To Be a Woman
by Savva
Summary: Two men, one woman - a story as old as the world itself. A twist - two powerful wizards will clash over one brilliant witch. Love. Friendship. Rivalry. Deceit. Severus/Hermione, Lucius/Hermione. AU. DH partly ignored. Angst/Drama/Romance/A Bit of Humour.
1. Prologue

**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. ****Huge thank you goes to my betas ****– **Glorioux and **Lima Bean**.

**_To Be a Woman_**

_To be a woman is a great adventure;_

_To drive men mad is a heroic thing. – B. Pasternak_

**_Prologue – Kaleidoscope_**

_Kaleidoscope – life is a kaleidoscope,_ mused Hermione Granger, sitting at her London flat on a quiet April evening. You do, I hope, know Hermione Granger, my friends – a brilliant witch, or, as Remus Lupin once said, the brightest witch of her age, the war hero, the brains of the Golden Trio, the best friend of the legendary Harry Potter (Merlin let him rest in peace). Yes, yes, and yes, my darlings; this was she – the one and only Hermione Granger.

So, as I was saying, this legendary person, Hermione Granger, sat in the living room of her London flat, with a nice glass of rather tasty Portuguese Malbec in her hand, musing about the eight years that had passed after the war.

The analogy she drew between life and the image we would be able to see in a simple kaleidoscope, easily acquired in any Muggle toy store, was quite logical and obvious. We all know how this interesting device works – all you need to do is point it towards a source of light and turn it while looking into it. Colourful pieces of glass, beads and who knows what else mix, scatter and then magically (in this case, the magic provided by tiny mirrors) create a geometrically harmonious and beautiful artwork.

The life of the whole Wizarding society in general, and of Hermione Granger in particular, had also been turned and twisted in different directions more than once during these years. Similarly, it was also comprised of tiny pieces – births, deaths, marriages, divorces, small personal triumphs and huge, public fiascos. Much like a silly children's toy, these pieces never failed to weave themselves into a vivid, motley picture – a picture of life.

In eight years, there had been a lot of little pieces in this life's kaleidoscope, and quite a few unexpected twists and turns contributed to the current scene.

Now, my dear readers, I would like to unveil what had happened during these past years in the lives of a few people relevant to this particular story.

By the third anniversary of the victory over Voldemort, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley – the famous Golden Trio that saved us all – had been happily rebuilding their lives.

Harry and Ron had both pursued careers in the Magical Law Enforcement, while Potter

had successfully dated the witch of his dreams, also known as Ginny Weasley. Talk of their upcoming wedding already had become official.

Ron as well had dated the witch of his dreams. He, however, hadn't been as successful as Harry in his quest for love. Hermione and he had dated on and off for three years, and by this point both had been convinced that they were, unfortunately, not soul mates and would probably do much better as friends. His career, on the other hand, had been going quite well.

Hermione Granger had been one of a few enthusiasts who had returned to Hogwarts after the war. She had attained her N.E.W.T.s with the highest scores possible, of course. After Hogwarts, Hermione had continued her education. Despite a somewhat disappointing, but certainly endearing, failure in her love life, she had felt confident, looked forward to working in the Ministry of Magic, and couldn't wait to put her ideas into practice there.

Severus Snape had not been allowed to die. He had been saved by one extremely stubborn and persistent witch (yup, Hermione Granger again). The former professor and Death Eater had been fully rehabilitated, and all his actions which took place during the long and torturous years of spying had been pardoned. His loyalty to Albus Dumbledore and the Order of Phoenix, his years of living on a knife's edge, his willingness to sacrifice himself for the light side, and his enormous contribution to the victory over Voldemort had all finally been recognized. Severus Snape had been regarded and respected as a hero. Had he been happy about it? Of course not, or at least that was what he had said to Rita Skeeter, right before he had almost hexed her arse into…well, you know where.

The Malfoys had been mostly rehabilitated as well, although Lucius had needed to appear before the Wizengamot and answer highly unpleasant, annoying questions. Unsurprisingly, our ever sly and veritable Slytherin had managed once again to come out clean and dry – almost clean, that is. The smooth surface of Lord Malfoy's private life, however, had suffered something of a crack. His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, had left him. In her eyes, quite rightfully so: Lucius had brought devastation upon the family, and worst of all, he had put the life of their only child in mortal danger. Lady Malfoy simply hadn't been able to forgive him, so she had divorced the wizard and moved into a villa on the French Riviera.

Draco Malfoy had become a changed boy after the war. His faith in his father had been shattered and all his lifelong beliefs had been undermined. The need for education, though, hadn't changed, so Draco, along with Hermione, had returned to Hogwarts. Then, after attaining his N.E.W.T.s, he had continued his education somewhere in France, near his mother.

The magical world had been recovering and healing. It had been a joy to be able to love, to work, to catch up with friends in the Leaky Cauldron without death constantly stepping on one's tail. All had seemed well, even better than well – older and younger generations alike had been happy and optimistic, and the future had looked brighter than ever.

Alas, however, all it took was one ill-willed twist of life's kaleidoscope, a stupid coincidence, and everything, everything, had broken into a thousand pieces again.

It happened four years ago.

The story had been disgustingly simple – for the last time Harry had managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some pathetic Muggle thief had shot him during an attempted robbery at a Muggle food shop. Harry had never even seen it coming. All he had done was open the door of the store, when a stray bullet had found its way into his head and there was no Harry Potter anymore. What exactly he had wanted in the shop was never discovered.

There is no need, my dear readers, to explain the extent to which this tragedy had affected the magical world. For everyone, it had been too darn hard to grasp, to comprehend and to accept. All the pieces were scattered and the Wizarding community was in mourning again. Naturally, those closest to Harry had suffered the most.

The whole future had changed with one mad turn on the road of life. Ginny, poor, innocent Ginny, who had already had lost her brother in the war had now lost her beloved, soon to be husband. She was devastated, as they all were. Ron, Hermione, and all the remaining Weasleys had been crushed by cruelty of fate.

Still, the ability of human nature to bounce back and survive is remarkable. Eventually, everybody had adjusted and had moved on with their lives. Now, four years later, the image in the kaleidoscope had been harmonious and beautiful again, with only one little difference – there was no Harry in it.

Ginny had found herself in professional Quidditch, saying that the prospect of traditional family life was not her cup of tea anymore. Later, Ron had also joined her. Frankly, since Harry's death, the work in Magical Law Enforcement had lost all its appeal for him. Sadly, first romance and then the friendship between Hermione and him slowly had come to an end. Somehow, without Harry, the relationship between Ron and Hermione hadn't worked well.

Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy had been strongly affected by Harry Potter's death. Inexplicably, the death of his former rival and saviour had been the turning point in the poor boy's life after which something had snapped in him. Draco had left his mother, cut off all communications with his father, and had disappeared.

There had been rumours that he was living in Paris with an unknown witch, a divorcee who was older than he. You can probably guess the level of distress the news had instilled in Lucius Malfoy. He had considered it a disaster – first he had lost his wife, and now he had lost his only son and heir. It had been an unimaginable catastrophe.

On the other hand, Lucius' friendship with Severus had developed to a new level. They had become close friends, meeting regularly for a glass of Firewhisky, a chess game or a round of poker. Harry Potter's death and the considerable amount of time since the war had allowed Malfoy to re-establish his standing at the Ministry and among the wizards once again. He had not been quite back to his full strength yet, but had been well on the way.

Severus hadn't returned to Hogwarts, but instead had left his teaching career for good. He had bought a small villa in the south of England, had set up a small potions laboratory there and had been happily brewing potions for a small group of customers.

Hermione had been working at the Ministry of Magic, striving to achieve everything that Harry and she had dreamt about. She had felt compelled to do so. Sometimes she had felt all alone, but it wasn't strictly true. She had friends, nice co-workers; it was just they hadn't been Harry and Ron. Despite these occasional traitorous feelings, she had felt rather contented. She had become a rising star at the Ministry and in the Wizarding political arena as well. Hermione had felt herself to be on the right track to reaching her and Harry's dreams.

It was the evening of April 2006, just a few weeks before the eighth anniversary of the victory over Voldemort, which may have been the reason for Hermione's philosophical musing.

Although, when more than half of the wine had disappeared from the witch's glass, her thoughts moved swiftly to a topic more connected with reality – the Victory Ball at the Ministry. There were undoubtedly a lot of things to consider and a few problems to solve – the dress, the shoes, the hair, and a beau – the most crucial issue of all!

_**Here we go again my darlings – a promised love triangle. I have strayed from long stories for long enough. There will be drama, romance, angst, love, laughter, tears, broken promises, betrayal and friendship in this one. I will bend heroes as needed, and they may therefore occasionally behave out of character. As always, I need all the support I can get .You know me: I tend to get all unsure and insecure without your reviews. Thank you in advance for them.**_


	2. Chapter One

**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. ****Huge thank you goes to my betas ****– **Glorioux and **Lima Bean**.

**_To Be a Woman_**

Chapter One

**_Blue shoes, Blue Knickers, or Where Did My Confidence Go?  
_**  
They were perfect – just right. The moment she saw them in a shoe boutique, two weeks ago (oh, come on girls, we all know the feeling) she knew that they were exactly what she had been looking for, exactly what she needed.

They were the most exquisite sandals she had ever owned – cobalt blue, made out of organza with silk satin lacing and with the magic words 'Manolo Blahnik' floating above them, right in the air. The style was the sinful fusion of two worlds – Victorian sensuality and modern technology. Of course, they were a perfect match for the strapless dress that Madam Malkin had ordered and altered exclusively for Hermione.

Oh, how happy our golden girl was the moment they belonged to her. Pleasant warmth filled her heart, when she finally was able to feel the weight of the bag hanging from her arm. It was intoxicating – the sensation akin to love. Hermione was convinced that now, nothing could corrupt, diminish or deprive her of her confidence – nothing, never, not with these gems on her feet.

This perfect pair of Manolos was the finishing argument in the month-long excruciating battle, which Hermione Granger had conducted with the most difficult opponent possible – herself. The progressive, self-assured and independent part of our famous witch's personality was engaged in an ongoing fight against, and already almost winning over, the other shy, insecure and quite conservative part of herself.

Obviously, with these silk, cobalt blue babies in the closet, Hermione's strong side had conquered her weaker half and was soaring above in delight with the victory. It was decided – the witch was going to the ball alone. There was no need for an escort. She could do this, and she most surely didn't need someone carefully holding her under an elbow as if she didn't have enough power of her own. No! No need for a strong, broad shoulder near her, and an arm around her waist. Nope, not at all with this new feeling of wilful independence.

Last year, she wouldn't have had the nerve to go alone, because she was still healing after Ron's departure. Neville sweetly had offered to accompany her, and they had gone together. It was actually quite a lucky night for him – Hannah Abbot was there. They reconnected rather quickly and tightly, and now they were going to the ball as a happy couple.

This year was altogether different for Hermione. She could feel it in her lungs – the air of self-confidence. The rising star of the Ministry was utterly ready to walk to the ball unescorted.

Yep. She was ready... or she had been, right until this morning, that is.

Did you ever wonder, my dear friends, where does the confidence go? No matter how long you worked on it, how fastidiously you gathered it up crumb by little crumb, no matter how sure you were that you had it right there in your fist – one wrong breath, one misspoken word and all of the confidence is suddenly _'poof'_– unexplainably gone.

That was exactly what had happened to Hermione. She should have stayed home today, but of course, she couldn't. It all started when her administrative assistant and acquaintance, Lora, burst into her office with the morning papers and the news. Her hands were full of files for Hermione, but all her thoughts were entirely focused on another subject – the Victory Ball.

"Good morning," she sang with glee, "I cannot believe it's today." When Hermione looked up at her from the documents she was working on, the girl continued, "The ball. I have everything ready. Zachary will pick me up at seven. Did you decide who is taking you?" But the moment Lora noticed the slight frown on Hermione's face, she backpedalled immediately.

"Oh, oh, right, I forgot. I am very proud of you, by the way. It is the twenty-first century, after all," she muttered unconvincingly, and the next second she swiftly dropped the papers on Hermione's desk, flashed her boss an awkward smile and disappeared through the door quite hectically.

That was it – the worm of doubt was awoken. All of what followed, only made it grow fatter and stronger. It stirred and twitched in Hermione's heart, causing her to endure an entire range of nauseating emotions and thoughts.

Sure enough, around twelve o'clock, Hermione received an owl from Neville, asking if she would like to join him and Hannah. At 2:30, George stepped by to ask if our witch would like to go with Angelina and him.

The apotheosis, the grand summit, however, was when Kingsley Shackebolt, the Minister himself, called her to his office and – aha, right – offered to take a poor, lonely witch to the function, as he, quite convincingly, put it, "As a friend, and just for your dignity sake, dear. No strings attached." You can imagine how terribly the tips of Hermione's fingers were itching, lightly touching her wand in her pocket. Oh, well – a proper upbringing and respect for the older wizard narrowly prevailed this time.

To be fair to Kingsley, he did officially ask her permission to accompany her to the Victory Ball a month ago, which Hermione politely didn't grant. The momentary disappointment that flashed in the Minister's eyes had gotten Hermione thinking. Although, after a few unsuccessful dates with wizards her own age during the previous two years, Hermione had firmly decided that she needed an older, mature wizard. Kingsley Shackebolt wasn't on her list of possible candidates for romance. To be honest, she didn't even have a list yet, but if she did, he wouldn't make it, of that she was sure. She just didn't see him in that light. Besides, Hermione wouldn't mind becoming his right hand at the Ministry some day, and you know what they say – yes, exactly – _do not mix business with pleasure._

By the time our brave Gryffindor got home and took her beautiful sandals out of the closet, her earlier defeated, shy, timid and conservative side was back, and in complete control, having entirely banished her confidence. She stood in her bedroom, wearing her cobalt blue sandals and matching cobalt blue knickers, futilely trying to find the missing bravado and feeling only dread and mortification.

Ah, and about the cobalt blue knickers – it was just a coincidence, a spontaneous decision. They had caught her attention the day after she bought the shoes, in the lingerie shop window. The knickers were extremely lacy and the exact same shade as the sandals. Of course, she bought them. How could she not?

Now, around six o'clock in the evening on Friday, about two hours before the Victory Ball in the Ministry of Magic, Hermione Granger stood in her bedroom, in front of her mirror, wearing stunning blue sandals and blue knickers, with her pale violet, strapless dress lying ready on the bed. She ineffectively tried to gain back her lost courage to go to the Ball alone. A heavy sigh and soft murmur, "I don't have it," confirmed that the confident side of Hermione Granger was losing the battle to the onslaught of her insecurities.

Now, my dear ones, let's leave our beloved lioness to wage her battle and venture to the villa of a certain Potions master.

**_Two Friends – Two Hussars_**

On the same Friday, at 6:03 in the evening, Severus Snape, dressed casually in black trousers and a black waistcoat over properly heavily starched white shirt, stood in his laboratory, carefully checking his supplies and making occasional notes in a parchment. It was this time of the month again – time to replenish materials and ingredients in the storage room. He looked good, our Potions master. Well, as good as possible considering that his main features were the same – black, slightly greasy hair, enormous, hooked nose, teeth... um, still the same. However, Snape's whole demeanour was different – calm, almost at ease.

Despite the seeming absorption in his unquestionably extremely beneficial task, a careful observer would have noticed that Severus wasn't as focused as usual. Since an old clock had chimed six times, something was undoubtedly bothering him. Three minutes after the clock had chimed; Severus heard a commotion in another part of the house. He had only managed to frown and mutter, "Merlin, help me," before an unusually agitated elf named Casimir barged into the laboratory and announced, "Mister Lucius is looking for master. Very worried Mister Lucius wants master now!" And then, without further ado, the elf had disappeared with a rather discontented pop.

Seconds later, the familiar drawl preceded the voice's owner. "Severus, you are late. It is already 6:04 and you are still home. You were supposed to be at the Manor at six o'clock. Could, you, please, be so kind and explain to me why are you still home?" At this, finally, the one and only Lucius Malfoy made his appearance at the threshold in all his glory.

Severus observed his friend with trained attention and a crooked smirk touched his thin lips. Lucius was already formally dressed in full parade. A white batiste shirt, green silk cravat, green organza waistcoat, black cashmere robes, and a distinctive snake-headed cane completed his attire. He gave Severus a quick, appraising glance, and continued, "As I was saying. Why are you still here and why are you not even dressed yet?" His light grey eyes were locked on his opponents' with arrogant expectancy. His impeccably trimmed, blond eyebrows were aristocratically arched, his chest pushed out in a haughty stance. Oh, yes, Lucius Malfoy – the one and only, indeed.

Severus didn't even bat an eye at all this charade. He had obviously been expecting his friend to arrive. "I don't believe I was supposed to be anywhere near the Manor today, Lucius. You were going to visit that dreadful Ministry function and I was going to stay home."

"We had an agreement, Severus. You said we would go together. You agreed. It was after a few glasses of Firewhisky and a cigar at the Manor," Lucius began his song again.

"I did no such thing, Lucius. Do not try your sly tricks with me. You know quite well; they will not work."

"But, Severus -"

"I said no, Lucius. Please stop this fruitless harassment. I will not go. Period." Severus' deep baritone began to show signs of annoyance. "I said _no_yesterday, and the day before, and the previous week, and at the beginning of the month. And, against my better judgment and only because I call you my friend, I will tell you again – I am not going to this horrible, public function, Lucius," reiterated Severus, emphasizing each word. "Last year was the final time for me." For anyone other than Lucius, this would have been the end of it. However, we know quite well that Lucius Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin for a reason.

In the blink of an eye, his demeanour changed dramatically. All the pomposity and arrogance was gone. Anyone could read the weariness and defeat in a slump of his shoulders. His eyes glistened slightly with depression, and our crafty, blond wizard whispered quietly, "I understood you perfectly, Severus." He uttered a soft grunt. "I will go home then, as I need to disrobe immediately. I feel old, lonely and dismissed by everybody. This is an ultimate truth, painful, yet real."

Lucius began to turn ever so slowly, as if he was leaving, muttering softly, "It was foolish of me to hope that you would change your decision. It's just-"

With an annoyed huff and a loud growl, Severus exclaimed, "Merlin, whoever is responsible for this torture, I hope he is laughing now. Shit! I need to hex your lying arse, Lucius. Old, smarmy git! I've gone unspeakably soft. All those years with those nitwits have finally gotten to me. They turned me into a twit!" And then, after an exasperated sigh, "Bollocks. I'll go with you for the last time, Lucius. I'll be at the Manor in half an hour."

"No need, no need, Severus. I will wait for you right here."

No one fooled anyone; you can be sure of that, my friends. Both wizards knew perfectly well what they were doing. It was their game, their special, perhaps slightly perverted, hussars' way of entertaining themselves.


	3. Chapter Two

_********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

**_To Be a Woman_**

Chapter Two

**Two Hussars – Two Friends?**

There was a specific reason for Severus' quick capitulation, a certain brown-eyed, curly-haired reason, I would say. That reason had been torturing him for about eight years now.

There is nothing to figure out, my friends. Yes, it was she – Hermione Granger. She saved him, pulling him from death with her ever knowing-all attitude. She was the one who put the Stasis charm on his wound before leaving to deal with Voldemort (freaking brave Gryffindor). She was the one who came back and took him to Poppy Pomfrey.

Miss Granger was the one who sat near him for weeks, changing the dressings on his wound, giving him potions by the hour, stroking his hair from his sweaty forehead. It was she, and only she, who, armoured with her unique stubbornness, managed to pull it off. Against all odds, this little witch made it happen – she saved him; she brought him to life again.

Then, with a quick peck on his cheek, she just had disappeared from his life, leaving behind a huge, gaping hole in his heart. The question that had tortured Severus all these years was – how could she, Hermione Granger, be so kind and so cruel at the same time? How did she dare to save him, tame him, to give him the gift of life and hope again only to cruelly leave him alive, healed, but lonely and bereft, floating in the big ocean of emptiness?

How could this slip of a girl have gotten him, a stone-cold man, used to the soft touches of the tips of her fingers, to her warm palm on his forehead, to her feminine murmurs that she uttered while she nursed him back to life? Foolish girl, she made him long and yearn for all that, every morning and every afternoon, since the moment she left. She had showed him how it felt to be cared for, and then, she had taken it all away.

To stay true to the facts, she didn't actually leave him. No. Severus had simply reached the point where he felt well enough to go home, and Hermione needed to stay at Hogwarts. She needed to finish her education, and he needed to start his life anew. And yet, the hole in his heart ached, and ached quite badly. It did not know any better – it just hurt. Throughout the years, the pain had dulled somewhat, and then it slowly metamorphosed into the light stirring that Severus felt every time he saw the young witch. Luckily, or unluckily, (damn, who knows which one of the two?) our Potions master didn't see much of her. To be precise, he saw her only once a year at the Victory Ball. Nevertheless, he needed these once-a-year rendezvous. They somehow had become an essential part of the wizard's life.

Thus, this evening there were exactly four minutes filled with undiluted agony for Severus. It started from the moment an old clock chimed six times and continued to the second of Casimir's hectic announcement of Lucius' arrival. Our stone-cold wizard simply wouldn't know how to act if his arrogant friend hadn't made an appearance. Oddly enough, Lucius, with his undiminished passion for public functions, was a blessing for Severus. It was a real boon, which effectively had eliminated the necessity for self-justification. Year after year, ball after ball, Malfoy pursued him almost to death, making him go. And that was it – so simple there was no need to overanalyse.

This year, though, there was one significant new development. Frankly, the absence of Ron Weasley from the side of Miss Granger last year had made the stirring in Severus' heart stronger and hotter. Thus, the need to see her was squeezing and pressing his heart with prominent urgency. However, the heart's owner didn't pay any attention to it, not in the slightest, of course.

With these musings, memories and thoughts swirling wildly in his mind, Severus finished his toilette. With precise movements, the wizard fixed the collar of his crisp, white shirt, which was peeking out of the heavy, black, formal robes and, with a last glance over his appearance, our former professor set off to meet his blond friend, who had been patiently awaiting him in the library.

Meanwhile, in the library, Lucius poured himself a generous helping of Firewhisky and waited. His keen, grey eyes gazed thoughtfully over the vast number of books' spines. He knew that Severus would not be long. The man was a former spy, for Merlin's sake. He was always ready for whatever fate might decide to throw at him, be it a dangerous mission, or an urgent need for a potion or a matter of life and death, or, as in this particular case, a mere Ministry function.

Their little charade of 'going or not going' amused Lucius quite a bit. Nevertheless, it was still quite a mystery to our Lord Malfoy why Severus obliged him every year. What did he find appealing at these soirees? Lucius was not a fool. There was no doubt in his mind that no one among those living on Earth had the power to change Severus' mind should he choose not to go. There was something that interested Severus at these balls, that much was obvious, but what? Lucius clicked his tongue thinking that his alleged friend was certainly an inscrutable character. Oh well, Lucius himself wasn't exactly an open book either. They were perfect companions, those two. They called each other friends, but, at the same time, neither ever truly trusted this friendship. Slytherins ...

At least, Malfoy knew exactly why he was venturing to this year's Victory Ball. It had taken him a few years to recover from Narcissa's deceit and Draco's disappearance. But, eventually, Lucius bounced back. Now, he needed to re-establish his connections, repair his reputation, and find a new witch, a new Lady Malfoy. And perhaps, it was not even too late for a new heir. Who knows, fortune may decide to be kind to him, and he might just get lucky? One more chance, why the hell not? In other words, Lucius needed to mingle.

Brisk footsteps announced Severus' arrival. "Ready?" asked Lucius, standing up from the settee.

"As ready as I can ever be for such torture," muttered his black-haired friend.

"There are times in every wizard's life, my friend, when true friendship demands a sacrifice," uttered the blonde wizard with mockingly solemn look.

"Lucius do shut your mouth, please. You know quite well that my share of sacrifices would be enough to cover a few lifetimes at the very least." Two seconds later, our wizards stepped into the green flames of the Floo.

_**The Ladies Cried "Hooray!" and Threw Their Bonnets in the Air**_

Hermione stepped out of the Ministry's west wing fireplace. She was late, angry and felt horribly dishevelled. Where did she find the courage to come at all? Let's see, my friends, she had not found it. However, she did find something other than her missing courage, bravado and confidence. She replaced all three of them with something quite powerful in its own right – annoyance with a capital 'A'. And frankly, this rather unpleasant emotion was as strong as her positive ones, if not even stronger.

Who was that daring, fearless, or maybe just idiotic, person who had dared to annoy someone as volatile in her anger as this witch? It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister. Perhaps there was something seriously wrong with him these days. When, at around half past six, after long and rather violent debates with herself, our lioness had decided that she, indeed, was not going anywhere, her fireplace had lit up and the familiar, authoritative voice of the Minister had sounded.

"Hermione, dear, you do understand that not going is not an option? You're needed at the function as an official representative. I hope you are ready. Would you like me to escort you there?"

And that was it – a tipping point. Hermione was boiling, ready to explode in a second. Who needs that bloody confidence when you are superlatively annoyed? Huh? Our fiery witch's response was short and clear.

"With all due respect, Minister, and for the last time – I… do… not… need… an… escort. Thank you very much, and see you in a bit. Goodbye now."

A flustered wizard bid his farewell and the angry green flames of Hermione's Floo consumed the contours of his face.

Therefore, here she was – utterly furious, darting through the Ministry corridors in her exquisite outfit and her chocolate curls all wild around her face. Five minutes later, still quite agitated and with rapid breathing from all that running on four-inch heels, Hermione was standing in front of the entrance to the hall. Thank God, she was still angry enough to make this last, tiny step and enter the venue.

The moment she crossed the threshold, all her doubts were gone – there were so many familiar faces: Molly and Arthur, George with Angelina, Professor McGonagall, Neville with Hannah, Luna. After half an hour, a deep sense of gratitude towards the Minister filled Hermione's heart. She truly appreciated his efforts and persuasion and genuinely enjoyed herself. The official ceremony, which followed the cocktail party, brought tears to Hermione's eyes as usual. She was the one who stood up and proposed the minute's silence in honour of the dead. It was a sorrowful but beautiful moment when all had risen. All the wizards and witches stood silently, remembering and honouring all the loved ones they had lost during those horrible years.

There were a few speeches, and then there was dancing. By this point in the evening, our witch had already had a few drinks, spoken to almost everyone she wanted to and was essentially ready to leave. On her way out, however, she noticed a certain wizard, customarily clothed all in black, for whom she had unconsciously kept an eye out the entire evening. Furthermore, this particular wizard had been visiting Hermione's thoughts and dreams quite frequently lately, maybe even more frequently than was appropriate. But who cared? – certainly not our Gryffindor princess.

Thus, when Severus Snape suddenly appeared to our golden girl, she couldn't stop herself. The drinks she had consumed along with those bloody dreams were pushing her. A genuine smile lit up her face as she determinedly walked towards her former professor.

She had missed him, simply and honestly missed him. She remembered that summer after the war bright and clear. Everything. How at first all her efforts at saving him seemed to be hopeless and futile. How ghostly and weak Severus had looked. How, after many, many sleepless nights, she finally noticed the tiny signs of improvement in her only patient. And, when the worst was passed, how beautifully calm and peaceful this fascinating man looked in his sleep. Yes, she remembered everything – the heat of his forehead when he was burning with fever and, later, the warmth of his feverish skin under her fingertips.

During these past eight years, Hermione hadn't had many opportunities to stop, sit and remember. Life was quite demanding, time consuming and heart filling. Only recently, with University finished, and after Harry's tragic death and her parting with Ron, she quite often found herself alone on evenings and weekends. Thinking about that summer and her former professor had become her new favourite hobby – after reading, that is.

The brave and daring witch swiftly covered the distance between Severus Snape and herself, and breathed out in greeting, "Professor Snape, how are you?"

_**One Wrong Move, Prelude**_

Severus Snape couldn't comprehend what was happening. How the hell it had come to this, and what kind of terrible outcome and dire consequences this would bring into his life? About the latter, by the way, he was positively certain. I must reassure you, my darlings, that this came as a complete surprise for everybody, including me. You are asking what 'this' refers to. All right, my dear ones; just remember, you asked for it.

So, Severus Snape, to his complete surprise, found himself firmly attached to Miss Granger's pulse point, the one located on the deliciously sensitive area of the neck, right under the jaw line. A bit to the left – yes, right there. To his further mortification, our Potions master was not only attached to Miss Granger there, but he was also sucking and nibbling the area, occasionally uttering an embarrassingly appreciative, humming sound. Moreover, his hard and muscled body was quite forcefully pinning Hermione's warm and pliant form to the wall conveniently located directly behind them. And as if this were not shocking enough, his hands were behaving utterly inappropriately. Oh Merlin, how deft were those fingers!

"Ahhh." That would be Miss Granger.

"Mmm." And that would be our Potions master.

How exactly the evening at the formal Ministry function spiralled down, or up as our former professor's body suggested, to this, we would gather in the next chapter. Adieu.  
_  
_


	4. Chapter Three

_********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

**_To Be a Woman_**

_Chapter Three_

**One Wrong Move, Prelude's Continuation **

It was Friday night, somewhere around eleven. The dancing at the Victory Ball was still in full swing. However, for two familiar participants, the evening had propelled to the... hmm, shall we say... next level?

Severus Snape was rather insistently kissing Hermione Granger, and she was quite enthusiastically reciprocating. To say that Severus was surprised that the evening had come to this would be a massive understatement. Careful analysis of events, however, identified two decisive moments and one wrong move that had determined the outcome of the entire night. Here, my dear friends; see for yourselves.

It all started when Severus noticed that a certain curly-haired young witch was briskly walking toward him. A bright smile played on her plump, rosy lips while sparks of stubborn determination flickered in her eyes. For a minute, our Potions master was completely lost. You see, there was one problem. Even though the sole purpose of being at these soirees every year was to see this particular young woman, her former professor had been decidedly avoiding any interactions with the young witch. He simply did not see a point to them. There was no hope for him here, so why waste the heart?

Hence, Severus had always observed Hermione from a distance. During the first four years, this was easy enough to achieve. Then, after Harry Potter's death, it became slightly trickier, and with the lack of Ronald Weasley by Miss Granger's side, the previous year had proved to be the most challenging to date. Noticeably, her whisky-coloured eyes had appeared to scan the crowd more frequently in these recent years. It was almost as if she, Hermione Granger, looked for him. Sure enough, Severus did not allow himself to believe in this utter nonsense even for a minute. It was not possible – she would not, not ever, not after all these years.

Thus, when our black-haired wizard recognized the danger of Miss Granger's entrance, an alarm went off in Severus' mind. He was ready to turn on his heel and make a quick exit. It would've been the right thing to do, don't you think? To wipe that smile from the witch's face would have been cruel, mean, and abundantly in character, exactly what everyone would expect from him. Yes, that undoubtedly should have been the way to do it. Only, that damned smile and those sparkles in Miss Granger's eyes, along with the pale violet silk that shamelessly, sinfully hugged her every quite enticing curve made Severus' eyes linger. Yup, they lingered just a little bit too long and, as a result, Severus Snape hesitated. Can you imagine? He hesitated! Darn!

Suddenly, the motley, talking, laughing, dancing crowd that surrounded them became colourless and voiceless – there was only she, Hermione. Her smile, her eyes, her feminine curves, which were wrapped so nicely in silk, and her thin, delicate ankles with cobalt blue satin laced so alluringly around them. The image was quite striking, and our professor was essentially done for.

And that was it – the fateful moment, after which everything went straight down to the pits. This one little hesitation – one wrong move, if you will – had ultimately decided not only the destiny of the evening but the direction of the whole story as well. Severus did not leave the ball when he had a chance. He missed a window of opportunity, and by doing so, he had sealed his fate.

When, at last, our former professor was able to tear his eyes from Miss Granger. When the crowd, and the music that surrounded them, returned to existence, it was already too late for a retreat. Hermione stood right in front of him, and her breathy, "Professor Snape, how are you?" caught him and pinned him to the floor.

_Shit! _

Indeed. All that followed was a complete train wreck.

**_One Wrong Move, Interlude _**

Professor Snape only managed a curt nod, and when his thin lips opened to retort something appropriately sharp and menacing, he was superseded by the honeyed drawl of his platinum-haired friend.

"Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise. We are fine; we are fine. Severus is fine. How are you, darling? How is your new initiative going? I presume you have Minister Shacklebolt as your supporter?"

To a casual observer, it might have looked like a perfectly innocent, little exchange at the official function. However, with one side-glance at Lucius, Severus could see that his supposed friend was up to something. All Malfoy's features resembled the poise of a powerful feline on a hunt – muscles taut, body posed in a predatory stance – ready to pounce. His sharp grey eyes were unblinkingly focused on his prey, Hermione Granger. Subconsciously Severus tensed as well, while Lord Malfoy continued with his perfectly orchestrated friendliness, "Would you like to dance, Miss Granger?"

"I am quite fine, Mister Malfoy, thank you. I am not really up to dancing," began Hermione, but Lucius didn't give her an opportunity to decline.

"Oh, please, it would be a perfect opportunity to discuss the Ministry news. I have a few ideas about the new law I would like to share. Dance with me, Miss Granger."

And with that, not allowing anyone to hinder or oppose, Lucius took Hermione by the elbow and unequivocally led her to the dance floor. The young witch threw Severus a frustrated glare and allowed herself to be guided, leaving her former professor seething. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy found Miss Granger engrossing, and Severus did not like it, not even one bit. Our Potions master's mood was getting darker by the minute. A whole range of surprisingly outrageous feelings filled the professor's hardened heart.

Severus watched the dancing couple thoughtfully. The deep black and green colours of Lucius' outfit accentuated the rich chocolate of Hermione's untamed curls and the pale violet silk of her dress perfectly. Lucius' arm encircled the young witch's waist a bit too possessively. Moreover, when Hermione and Lucius were dancing the second dance, Severus was sure that he saw a slight smile playing on the witch's lips.

"Damn you, Lucius!" Swearing under his breath, our black-haired wizard nearly turned to leave. However, a new development on the dance floor made him hesitate again. It was the second time in one bloody evening when Hermione Granger had been the reason for his hesitation. This time, Kingsley Shacklebolt caused the commotion. The Minister interjected and stole Hermione from Lucius. Malfoy huffed but stepped aside. Hermione looked flustered. Evidently, she didn't want to be passed around like a goblet, not in the slightest.

By this point, our poor Potions master was aflame. Somehow, it was rather difficult to watch Miss Granger twirling in the other wizards' arms. Over the years, Severus had become used to the sight of Ron Weasley by Hermione's side. But, when young Weasley disappeared from the picture, a veritable dragon of jealousy, along with an intensive ardour to possess the stubborn witch for his own, had been awakened. And now, this flame-breathing dragon was methodically burning his insides.

Boiling and melting inside, but with undisturbed outer demeanour, Severus waited for Lucius to join him once again. When Lord Malfoy – whose face, by the way, was equally inscrutable – came close enough, Severus muttered, "This seems a quite suddenly acquired interest in Miss Granger, Lucius. I would say it was rather odd." His black eyes carefully watched his friend's reaction, while a number of different suspicious jostled in his mind.

Lucius shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and murmured, "Well, Severus, you know that blood matters no longer concern me. Miss Granger has become a quite beautiful witch. She is brilliant, famous, well connected and available. I am available as well at the moment, and I, therefore, cannot see anything odd in my interest in her." Next, the older wizard gave Severus a penetrating gaze; his grey eyes were unsuccessfully attempting to dig into the Potions master's mind. "Why, my friend, are you interested in the witch yourself?"

In response, Severus pointed towards Hermione, now dancing with Shacklebolt, and snidely said, "I was rather surprised that you let Kingsley steal the prey right from your jaws, Lucius. What was it, old friend? Did you lose your famous deadly grip? I do hope it is just a lack of practice and not your age, finally, catching up with you."

There was nothing friendly in those black eyes. A blow had been delivered with the precision of which only the Potions master was capable. A slight hitch in Lucius' breath and a spark, which lit up the blond's grey eyes just for a second before it was masterfully disguised, were the only indications that Severus had hit the target.

Naturally, in the next moment the former professor received an answering blow. "No, not at all, my friend. I decided to let him play. It is not that difficult to gain the witch's attention, or even friendship, Severus. You know that as well as I. The true mastery, however, lies in making the girl yours and not letting her marry another man. Not every wizard can achieve that, you know."

Lucius' friendly, soft drawl did nothing to mitigate the impact. It hit Severus hard, just as it was intended to. Nobody knew where this little clash between our two friends would have led if the very witch in question hadn't stolen their attention. There was a momentary break in music, and Hermione used it to escape the Minister. But, apparently, Kingsley Shackebolt was determined not to let the young witch slip between his fingers.

An understanding of the situation dawned on our two wizards the moment they heard Hermione's voice, "Thank you very much, Minister, but I am perfectly capable of getting home myself. Truly, there is absolutely no need to escort me."

"But, Hermione, it is a traditional sign of chivalry to escort the lady home. Why do you feel such a strong desire to fight the traditions?"

Lucius reacted immediately. "With all due respect, Minister, I believe that if anyone should accompany our dear Miss Granger home it should be-"

"Me," interjected Severus, and that, my friends, was the second pivotal moment in this evening. What pushed him to interfere like this, you may ask? Why, the fire-breathing dragon of jealousy of course. The heat inside wizard's heart had reached the dangerous, steel-melting temperature. And even though our former spy was used to tortures and pain, matters of the heart frankly have remarkable power over people, power that can force even the most self-controlled and steely person to act altogether uncharacteristically. Apparently, that was the case in this situation.

Just as this one short syllable escaped our professor's mouth, a genuine, bright smile, which, by the way, had started all this madness in the first place, had returned to Miss Granger's pretty lips. "Professor, how nice of you. Thank you," said Hermione, as she enthusiastically walked towards Severus and quickly, as if she was quite used to it, intertwined her slender, bare arm with his. After that, there was no way back, and Severus, with Hermione attached to him, began a journey to the nearest Ministry's Floo.

Two pairs of eyes, one dark brown and one grey followed the departing couple. If Severus had enough common sense to turn round and look at Lucius, he would most indubitably not like the view. A trained, arrogant smile played on Lucius' lips. His eyes, on the other hand, were cold and calculating. A rivalry was on. "To the victor belong the spoils. Let the games begin..." murmured Malfoy under his breath.

Meanwhile, our unsuspecting couple was moving quite briskly through the Ministry's corridors, all because of Severus long legs, of course. The rapid pace of their walk, however, didn't prevent – or perhaps even provoked – Hermione to nestle comfortably on her escort's strong arm. This way, with most of her weight laid across his arm and shoulder, she could easily keep up with his wide strides.

At the same time, Miss Granger's bare shoulder was firmly pressed into Snape's, and he could swear that he felt the warmth of her skin even through his heavy robes. Severus, of course, found it highly disconcerting.

"So, how are you, Professor? It has been years since we talked. I am not even certain how long ago. Do you remember?"

"I am quite well, Miss Granger, and it is exactly seven years, nine months and fifteen days since we last talked."

The exactness of this account rendered Hermione speechless, and hence, they covered the rest of the way in silence. For Severus, it was a perfect opportunity to berate himself for his irrational behaviour. He was outraged by himself; it was so unlike him. He had behaved like an idiot, an asinine fool. There was positively no hope for him with Miss Granger. Her interest in him was inexplicable. She had probably just had too much to drink.

When the witch finally found her voice again, they were already standing in front of the Ministry's west wing fireplace. Fully absorbed in his inner self-chiding, Severus failed to notice that Hermione did not hurry to disentangle herself from him. However, when she turned her face to him and asked, "How is your wound? Does it still hurt?" And then daringly caressed the skin right above the edge of the professor's crisp, white shirt, the previously seen determination began to shine in her eyes again. The young witch had successfully gained his attention. His undivided attention, I would say. He should not have touched her hand. He should have turned around right at that moment and left.

But instead, his lonely soul made him lean to her, as if to give her more opportunities to caress him, and his long hand covered hers, pressing it closer to him. "No, no," he groaned, his voice suddenly terribly hoarse, "it doesn't hurt anymore, Miss Granger." She was caressing him with the slightest touches of the tips of her fingers, the same whispery touches for which Severus had been yearning and longing for almost eight years.

_Bollocks! Why is this happening_? Even though there was no doubt in Severus' mind that whatever happened, he would get hurt at the end, in the next instant, he, the stone-cold man, came totally undone. All the surreal events of this evening – scheming Lucius with his annoying interference, the idiotic Minister with his wandering hands, and Hermione's beguiling smile – had all conspired to make it happen. He could not have stopped himself even if he wanted to.

Severus growled and forcefully pinned Hermione to the wall, attacking her plump, sweet lips with ferocity. Hermione's response was immediate – she breathed out a delighted sigh and opened her mouth for him.

Here, my friends. The circle is complete. We have returned to the moment from which we had started our journey. Now we know exactly how the evening at the official Ministry gathering propelled to this rather intense kiss between our beloved Potions master and the Gryffindor Princess.

The only thing left to learn is how this kiss ended.

**_One Wrong Move, Postlude _**

Hermione and Severus had been kissing for about twenty minutes now. They occupied the wall of the nice, dimly lit niche located near the Ministry's west wing fireplace. At this point in time, the masterful hands of our Potions master found their way to Miss Granger's heart-shaped backside and were happily and unabashedly exploring its perfection. Moreover, one of his hands ventured even further, deftly gathering up the pale violet silk of the witch's dress in order to be able to trace the outline of her well-sculpted thigh. Hermione's nimble fingers, on the other hand, became tangled in Severus' hair, due to the absence of other easily accessible places on our properly clothed Potions master.

As more time passed, it became clear that they needed to relocate urgently. Not only because Hermione's dress was in unspeakable condition – a crinkled mess gathered somewhere around her waist – but also because the Potions master's robes and shirt were quite ruffled, unbuttoned and maybe even torn in some places. See, there is a danger in engaging in this kind of passionate activity with a lioness, after all. The last thing Severus Snape wanted was for somebody to see him in such a horrible state of dishevelment. Moreover, he surely would never allow anybody to see that much of Miss Granger's bare flesh.

Therefore, as both of them were convinced that stopping was not an option, Severus groaned hoarsely, "Where to, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's response was as hoarse as Severus' inquiry. "My flat, and stop calling me Miss Granger, Severus. You have your fingers in my knickers, for Merlin's sake."

"Point taken, Hermione. Please, be so kind and lead the way." This phrase sounded more like a prayer than a request. Hermione hugged him tightly, and the next instant our almost-lovers disappeared. Seconds later, they reappeared in Hermione's bedroom, intertwined and tangled in each other rather marvellously. The rhythm of their movements increased dramatically when, after a few softly spoken spells, they were totally nude. And when the naked and eager body of our Potions master covered the nude, soft and delicious form of our Gryffindor princess, the love dance began.

There was not much talking between our lovers during the evening, so, understandably, there was even less of it during lovemaking. The only sensible words were: _Hermione, Severus, witch, so wet, so tight, shit, fuck and yes._ Pardon me, my darlings, but I have to stay true to the facts. Of course, there were lots of _ahhs, mms _and other single and double syllables, as well as outright incomprehensible groans, moans and such.

You might have guessed that their lovemaking most certainly did not stop after the first mutual climax. No, of course not. Neither Severus nor Hermione were going to stop quite so soon. Our lovers had found an unexpected bliss, and both of them were going to put it to a good use. Only when the first sunrays found their way into Hermione's bedroom did the lovers find their ultimate contentment and fall into exhausted slumber.


	5. Chapter Four

_********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

**_To Be a Woman_**

___Chapter Four_

**Just You Wait, Henry Higgins, Just You Wait! **(My Fair Lady)

_The sun? Why the sun? Who turned it on? Turn it off…_

A sunny Saturday morning found Hermione Granger in her bed. Well, strictly speaking, it wasn't morning at all. It was already well into early afternoon when our girl finally managed to pry open first one eye and then, with difficulty, the other. It was all the sun's fault – it was uncomfortably, cruelly bright.

Hermione shifted on her back and drew a shallow sigh. Her movements were slow and lazy. There wasn't any need to check the other side of the bed – she knew that Severus was already gone. Subconsciously, in her slumber, she felt the moment when his warmth and weight disappeared, leaving only the cold void behind.

_Did you expect anything else from your former professor?_ Hermione asked herself. This straightforward question demanded a straightforward answer. Our young witch, however, was torn between two rather opposite responses. Her mind's reasonable answer would have been, _Of course not._ At the same time, her silly, young witch's heart was quite sure that Severus would stay.

Hermione huffed. She could almost hear her former professor's derisive voice asking, "What did you hope for, foolish girl – breakfast in bed?"

Ahh, breakfast in bed would be nice, but perhaps just a bit too nice to be even remotely possible.

Immediately, an intriguing image of Professor Snape standing in her kitchen with a flirty little apron tied coquettishly around his preferably bare hips appeared in Hermione's mind. As you can probably guess, this mental picture had made our witch giggle uncontrollably.

When, after a while, Hermione finally managed to suppress her highly inappropriate giggling, she stretched and sat up. For a minute or two, she thoughtfully studied her body's condition. A slight and quite pleasant all-over soreness, along with certain contented tiredness, flowed languidly trough her bones and limbs, creating a delightful sensation of mellowness in her core.

Please understand, my friends: our golden girl wasn't new to this. This wasn't the first time that Hermione had been shagged right up to the point of light, pleasant soreness, in other words – _'properly'_. Yet, knowing that it was her former professor – _nah, it was Severus now–_ who had driven her body to this state, was somehow extremely satisfying and exciting. The only dark cloud on the azure sky of Hermione's contentment was, of course, the absence of the alleged lover.

As a veritable girl and against all dictates of logic, common sense, and who knows what else was missing by her sex-muddled brain, that morning she wished for him to be there, in her bed. The night before Severus had been nothing short of magnificent. This supposedly cold, unapproachable wizard with his dark and adverse past was everything Hermione expected him to be, and then some more.

_Much more, actually,_she thought with growing longing. He had been intense, passionate, demanding, and then gentle, attentive and considerate. He made love to her wildly, and then tenderly held her in his arms, softly caressing her overheated skin. The night with him was perfect. Even a single recollection of hot Severus' open-mouth kisses against her skin disrupted Hermione's breathing. Oh, how exquisitely fully stretched and filled his presence inside of her had made her feel! How skilfully his fingers had emphasized his hips' powerful thrusts and strokes. And now, her Potions master was gone.

Hermione drew another deep sigh and swung her feet off the bed. She needed to determine what to do now – how to act, how to live, and, most importantly, how to ensure that the previous night would not turn out to be her only night with Severus Snape. With these thoughts flooding her still, more than slightly hazed mind, Hermione drifted to the loo.

About forty-five minutes later, our freshly bathed, combed and clothed heroine sat in her kitchen. There, over tea and toast, she continued her deliberations about Severus. As of that day, it was apparent to the young witch that the Potions master harboured some sort of amorous feelings towards her.

He must, surely. What do you say, my dear readers? Why else did Severus know how long they had not talked to one another with such precise recollection? Why else did he rescue her from those two hawks, Malfoy and Shacklebolt? Mm?

At this point, when Lucius Malfoy entered her thoughts, Hermione had gotten just a little bit distracted. She remembered that frankly, Malfoy's dancing techniques were quite charming. He had led her through the dance floor so gallantly, so masterfully twirling her in his arms – she couldn't help but let her eyelids flutter and close involuntarily as she imagined herself being a fairytale princess at the enchanted ball.

A dreamy smile summoned by the recollection had only just managed to reach the corners of the witch's lips when she abruptly stopped herself. Oh, what an absolutely and utterly absurd notion. The wizard was a Death Eater! Even though he claimed to have been completely and utterly reformed, Lucius Malfoy most obviously was not a wizard to be trusted, and certainly no Prince Charming.

_Tsk, fairytale princess... nonsense!_ Hermione chided herself, and her thoughts returned to Severus. Sure enough, the rest of Saturday was spent in constant musing, talking to herself aloud and, of course, analysing and overanalysing. The second endless task was waiting, but waiting for what? Oh, well, who knows for what? For something, anything from him – a letter, a flower, a note, a shout out through the Floo, which was the least realistic possibility. She waited while she ate and while she read and while she cooked.

When the mortifying, grave silence continued into Sunday, Hermione began to doubt her earlier assessment of the Potions master's feelings towards her. The delicious sensation of tingling and mellowness in the pit of her stomach had somewhat diminished, clearing the way for a rather unpleasant, dull ache of suspense. By Sunday night, Hermione was at her wit's end. Doubts metamorphosed into anger. Hence, just before going to bed on Sunday, Hermione had firmly decided to give the damn wizard at most one or two more days. And if, by Tuesday night, he had not surfaced, she would confront him – all traditions and other shitty proprieties be damned.

Hermione Granger was not the witch that any wizard in his right mind would use for a one-night stand, and it seemed that Severus Snape was destined to learn this first hand. Our lioness' fury simmered slowly, brewing a perfect explosive within her.

Therefore, my friends, when, after a sensational, passion-filled Friday night and a torturous, exhausting and anxiety filled weekend, on Monday morning our witch walked into her office and her brown eyes fell on the most beautiful bouquet of pale violet freesias she had ever seen, Hermione Granger's heart officially broke through its confines and left her body. Her heart simply flew out of her, made a few highly dangerous somersaults in the air, victoriously circled a few times around the said bouquet and only then reluctantly returned to its owner's chest.

Only then, with her heart safely back in her chest, was the young witch able to check the little green card sticking out of the bouquet. It was decorated with elegantly written silvery initials – L.M.

Damn it!

_**Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy** (Queen)_

There was one other person who was also somewhat disappointed with our beloved Severus Snape: Mister Lucius Malfoy.

It was early on Monday morning, and Lucius was still pouting. He sat in his library and fumed while a glass of Firewhisky stood in front of him. Sure, it was a bit early for a Firewhisky, but desperate times always call for desperate measures, and these were, indeed, desperate times. His black-haired friend had snatched the witch from under his aristocratic nose. Lucius wanted the witch and the Potions master had taken her, and therefore, Severus Snape had been one rotten, wicked wizard.

Ridiculous! How dared he, this insolent boy? All right, he was not a boy anymore. However, what was Severus' non-existent experience with witches compared to Lucius' quite impressive résumé? Severus had truly wanted only one witch before – Malfoy knew that much. So what the hell had happened now?

That fateful Friday, at the Victory Ball, Lucius had experienced an epiphany. The moment he saw the young Gryffindor walking their way, it struck him. Here she was, his new chance, his ticket to a new era. Suddenly, it all had become clear to our Lord Malfoy. His marriage to Hermione Granger would be a fresh start for the Malfoys. She would bring everything – influence, prosperity, power and perhaps even an heir.

In a matter of minutes all had been decided. Along with this plan, the destiny of a young lioness was clearly defined in Lucius' mind, and he began the implementation immediately. Seriously, why the hell wait?

The dancing went sublimely...

Now, sitting in his library, our blond wizard hummed and smiled at the recollection of the dance he had shared with the young witch. There was something decidedly tempting and alluring in holding the young, pliant body in his arms. She was so wonderfully responsive. It took Lucius only one dance to get the girl to relax and even smile. A few more dances and she would have been his.

Alas, you know quite well, my friends, it was not destined to happen. First, the idiotic Minister interfered and then this insolent, traitorous, so-called friend had shamelessly stolen Lucius' almost-future-wife from him. Moreover, as if Snape's abominable behaviour at the ball wasn't enough, when Lucius checked on Severus on Saturday morning precisely at half past six, the latest Lucius could wait in order not to look to desperate, Snape's elf Casimir gloatingly informed Lucius that his Master had not yet returned from the ball. What an impudent creature he was, as impudent as his deceiving master.

You can probably imagine what this news did to Lucius Malfoy. In his mind, he was almost engaged to the golden girl, and now this. _Shit_! At that thought, the grey eyes of our Lord Malfoy began to burn with fury. Lucius slammed the glass of Firewisky on his desk rather loudly and huffed with disdain.

Well, at least now he knew precisely what had interested Severus at the Victory Balls all these years. His black-haired friend had been pining for Miss Granger. How intriguing. Oh well, he, Lucius Malfoy, had always liked venturesome games. By his actions, Severus had carelessly thrown a glove into Lucius' face. Of course, Lucius had accepted the challenge – gladly, and with pleasure. Quite obviously, it would be the end of their friendship. They would be rivals now and with that notion in mind, Lucius abruptly stood up and walked briskly from the library.

When he returned two hours later, a satisfied smile played on his lips. The morning went pretty well and was quite productive. Our crafty blond wizard had begun to spin his meticulously diaphanous silk web around his chosen future lady. So, let me tell you, what exactly had been done during that Monday's morning.

Lucius had gone to the Ministry, where he became acquainted with Miss Granger's administrative assistant, Lora. The girl was quite talkative, so now Lucius knew Hermione's schedule, along with other quite useful information such as what time and where Hermione usually had her lunch, where she went for her occasional after hours drinks. That place, of course, was the Leaky Cauldron. Lucius had visited the Leaky Cauldron, and after a round sum of galleons had been paid, the wizard was bound to be the first to know each time Hermione went there.

The only thing remaining now was to wait. Lucius was absolutely, undoubtedly certain that Severus would eventually make a mistake, and the young witch would come to the Leaky Cauldron to drown her sorrows. In addition, Lucius managed to send a small present to his precious soon-to-be fiancé. He started with something simple yet sweet, with something that showed his sensitive side – freesias to match the lilac dress she had worn at the ball.

_Try to top that, Severus!_

Here, my darlings, it seems to me that our unsuspecting Potions master is in enormous trouble. Dark clouds are gathering before the oncoming storm.


	6. Chapter Five

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

**___Chapter Five_**

_**Decisions, Decisions or Blue Knickers and Their Secret Powers**_

"Hmm, all right," said Severus as he drew the heaviest sigh he had in his arsenal and began to write.

_Dear Miss Grang... _

A sharp point of a quill froze halfway through Hermione's last name. "Aggrrhh," growled the wizard and, in one irate movement, crumpled an innocent piece of paper, throwing it unto a rapidly accumulating pile of crumpled papers that had formed in a far corner of his study. There flew – one second, my darlings, let me check – Severus' thirteenth attempt to compose a note to Hermione.

"It's an absurdity, clear-cut lunacy," muttered our extremely disgruntled Potions master. Severus Snape felt like an ultimate fool. It was Tuesday evening. For two hours... oops, I stand corrected, for three hours, our black cloud of a wizard had been trying to write the damned letter.

You see, after the ball, on that Saturday morning, he had carefully disentangled himself from sleeping Hermione and, with cowardice, had left. Yes, Severus Snape had been that truthful with himself. After all, he hadn't been considering any further developments. Our sleepless Potions master had reached this radical conclusion during the wee hours as he had observed the fiery red dawn sunrays playing tag on a wall in Hermione's bedroom.

There, still lying in the witch's bed, still holding the witch in his embrace and listening to the soothing sounds of her breathing, he had managed to convince himself that this night was a glitch, an onetime deal – a drunken mistake, so to speak.

Miss Granger had had just too much to drink, and he, on the other hand, simply hadn't been able to stop himself from taking what had been offered. Our insecure wizard had made himself believe in this faulty logic. It had been the only reasoning which our Potions master's mind could accept. His head, at that moment, hadn't been able and willing to entertain any other possibilities.

Yes, my friends, Severus Snape had remembered the determination that had shone in Hermione's eyes when she first had approached him, and then, later, had daringly caressed him. Yes, he certainly had noticed how willingly and joyfully she had accepted his advances. Yes, yes and yes, he most undoubtedly would never be able to forget the contented sighs, moans, and cries the young witch emitted during their passionate encounter. And, lastly, Hermione's hoarse whisper, 'Severus', at the moment of climax would be stored in the deepest and most sacred parts of his heart forever.

Alas, as a man whom almost everyone had rejected for most of his life, Severus had chosen to ignore all these signs of affection. It had been a matter of self-condemnation. He had made a mistake and it would never happen again. Our wizard had decided that the sooner he would forget all about it the better. And he had been quite ready to act upon his decision.

Only this particular time his firm resolve had been relatively short lived. To be exact, it had survived until Sunday evening, when fate had intervened in the form of Severus' house-elf.

It had been around seven o'clock on Sunday when Casimir, with a rather enthusiastic crack, had popped up in the laboratory where Severus had been peacefully brewing a fresh batch of Wolfsbane Potion. A smug smile had been plastered on the creature's face. In one hand, he had held Severus' formal black robes – the ones he had been wearing on Friday – yup,_ that _Friday. In the elf's other hand had been something bright blue and vaguely familiar.

"Me fixes Master's robes and finds this," the elf had reported and had uttered a joyful sound, which was a peculiar mixture of a snort and a sob. "Master must keep this. These good things. Knickers good for Master." With this, snorting and sobbing in delight, Casimir had forcefully inserted a little lacy garment into Severus' hand and had disappeared with a loud contented pop, leaving his master to ponder why and how exactly were _'knickers goods for him'_.

Severus had squeezed the offensive item in his fist, trying to decide what to do. All kind of erratic thoughts had been bolting through his mind. The damn knickers had been almost literally burning a hole in Severus' hand. He had wanted to feel, to smell their scent, to bury his nose in their sinful softness. In mere seconds, the first and foremost battle had been lost. The knickers had won quite effortlessly, and a defeated Severus had opened his fist and inhaled deeply.

Hermione's delectable, tantalizingly intimate scent had filled his nostrils as desire and longing had flooded his mind and overwhelmed his senses. Severus eyelids had fluttered and closed._ Mmm..._He had practically been able to feel her silky, pulsating warmth closing around his rigid length.

And that had been the end of our former professor's supposed resolution and peace. Who could have guessed that a skimpy, frail piece of silk and lace, even if it was flamboyantly blue, could be that powerful?

Of course, we can be sure that Severus Snape had not succumbed to the powers of the blue knickers immediately. No, he always had been a pretty tough and strong wizard. He vigorously had fought against their baneful influence. For example, our stoic Potions master hadn't allowed himself to take them to bed with him. He purposely had left the garment on the desk in his study. The fact that he hadn't been able to sleep and, at three in the morning, had been still sitting at the same desk with his enormous nose rather close to the blue bandits had been purely coincidental.

Monday had been spent in long and excruciating battles with himself and the knickers. Oh, how exhaustively he had tried to ignore the call of his heart and his body, how fastidiously Severus had tried to wipe the memory of the night with Hermione Granger, which the bloody piece of lingerie had kept bringing into his mind again and again. It had reopened that door and Severus hadn't been able to shut it.

Now he had become too weak to throw the memory of that night away. The knickers had bewitched our poor Potions master. In a matter of hours, their presence had transformed the stone-cold man into a crumbling fool, whose nose had been constantly attached to a blue scrap of fabric.

Being a reasonable person, by Monday evening, Severus Snape had capitulated and conceded to the need for a new resolution and a new plan. His previous initiative, during which our former professor had catalogued everything that had transpired between Hermione and him as a drunken mistake, had been utterly destroyed, burned and buried by those victorious, cobalt blue warriors.

A new plan had been born quickly and easily when the wizard had decided to write Hermione a letter and to invite her to his villa, simply in order to return the offensive undergarment to her in person. Dinner with her might ensue, of course.

And really, don't you think it would have been too crude, even for Severus Snape, just to send the damned thing to the witch. Right? Then again, Severus wouldn't have known what to write in an accompanying note. Because something like,

_Dear Miss Granger,_

Enclosed please find your knickers.

Sincerely yours,

Severus Snape

PS. This blasted thing – I went bloody ballistic – take them back immediately!

could have been simply deadly – you can see quite clearly, my dearies, that this kind of letter would have been an exceptionally bad idea. Hermione Granger was not the right witch for such correspondence.

Thus, Tuesday evening found our Potions master writing an invitation. For three hours. In vain.

Finally, after the pile of crumpled papers in the far corner of his study tripled in size, the letter was finished.

_Miss Granger,_

Accidentally, during our Victory Ball night's encounter, I attained possession of a piece of your clothing.

I believe I should return it to you in a timely manner and am thus inviting you to visit me at my villa on Friday night. I would be pleased if you would stay for dinner.

Please inform me about your decision and the time that would most suit you, should you choose to accept this invitation.

Severus Snape.

The letter was sealed and sent with an owl. To Severus' surprise, less than an hour later, he received a response, written on his own letter in a rather impatient, but still fine hand,

_Very well, Mister Snape._

I shall accept. Seven o'clock on Friday night would be most agreeable.

Hermione Granger.

Something in the tone of this reply made Severus frown. However, when nothing came to mind immediately, our wizard dismissed the nagging feeling that something was not quite right as tiredness and nerves. There were much to do – he had a dinner to organize and host.

Casimir was in ecstasy, "Me tells Master – knickers good," he sobbed with glee, whilst running through the villa with different books of culinary content and torturing Severus with questions about which cuisine _'Master's Missy prefers'._

Severus himself felt much better. The thought of having Hermione there warmed his hardened heart. A genuine smile played on his thin lips all throughout the rest of the week – of course, only when he was alone in his laboratory, brewing the potions. The blue knickers migrated from his pocket to a quiet place. They were safely put into a neat little box, which was seated on Severus' desk. Somehow, the knowledge that their owner herself would soon be there broke the spell the knickers held over our Potions master. Apparently, he was actually looking forward to seeing Hermione.

Now, when everything was decided, Severus couldn't fathom why he hesitated for so long. Why hadn't he written to Hermione immediately? And why the hell had he left that Saturday morning? He had behaved like a git, but luckily, the blue knickers had interfered and fixed everything.

The only dark cloud on this blue sky was Lucius. For almost six years now, Friday night had been their poker night. So when, on Thursday, Severus sent Lucius a cancellation notice, his friend sent him a haughty reply which stated that he, Lucius, was accustomed to Severus' ever-changing mood, attitudes and alliances.

Our Potions master knew that Lucius was probably still angry with him about their little argument over Hermione at the ball. Severus didn't like the situation and felt he needed to remedy it as soon as possible. Lucius Malfoy had been his only friend for many years now, and even if Severus wasn't particularly open in their friendship, he was still not ready to dash it all that easily. Our black-haired wizard made a mental note to visit his blond friend the following Saturday.

On Friday, sometime after five o'clock in the evening, Casimir's euphoria reached its apotheosis. The poor creature burst into his master's laboratory with an utterly mad facial expression and began to list the dishes he prepared. The menu was full of all sorts of French cuisine such as Foie Gras, Bouillabaisse, Cassoulet, and Clafouti. By the end of the elf's recitation, Severus started to feel the tell-tale signs of a migraine. Therefore, our Potions master rashly approved of every single dish.

_Phew. Severe indigestion would be a sure result._

Around half past six, Severus was ready and slightly nervous himself. Merlin only knows why, right at that moment, standing in front of his fireplace, he remembered the peculiarly hostile tone of Hermione's answering note. After fifteen minutes of intense contemplation, an understanding dawned on our wizard. The witch was displeased by his behaviour. He had left her alone on Saturday morning without so much as a note, he hadn't contacted the witch until Tuesday evening, and even then he sent her a cold, formal invitation, again without so much as a word of apology.

_Fuck! _(Oh, yes, precisely!)

Suddenly, the prospect of meeting and dining with a highly annoyed Hermione Granger didn't seem as appealing to Severus anymore. He drew a deep, calming breath and braced himself for the worst. The young witch was highly temperamental, as the wizard knew only too well.

This was the exact state of mind in which our Potions master met our lioness, when, at the stroke of seven, she stepped out of his fireplace.

How their dinner and evening eventually played out, we, my dear ones, will find out in the next chapter. I will, however, give you one clue – twenty minutes to eight on that same Friday, the recently perpetually pouting Mister Malfoy received an owl from the Leaky Cauldron informing him that one Hermione Granger was there and already on her second helping of Firewhisky.

Enough said. Au revoir for now.


	7. Chapter Six

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

___Chapter Six _**__**

**Between a Rock and a Hard Place **

****Hey there, my darlings, here we go again. Where were we? Oh, yes...

It was Friday night, exactly a week after our lovers' first passionate encounter. Severus Snape, who had just been struck by the unexpected, sickening and utterly ill-timed realization that he actually had been behaving like a git for the past few days, stood in front of his fireplace, waiting for Hermione to arrive.

By the seventh stroke of the old clock, a sour lump of apprehension was firmly lodged in our Potions master's throat. Believe me, my dear readers, I am not trying to diminish our beloved wizard's shortcomings; I would honestly never do that. Well, all right, maybe I do just a tiny bit. But I swear that it was this particular condition, namely, the hard lump in Severus' throat and the dreadful chill in the pit of his stomach, which was responsible for all that followed.

The instant Hermione Granger set her little foot onto the floor of Severus' lounge and a slightly colder "_Welcome_" than Severus had initially intended to utter left his lips, the destiny of the evening was set. The icily added "_Miss Granger_" only ratified the quick and dramatic conclusion of what was meant to be a pleasant dinner date.

Knowing that Hermione wasn't in the best mood to begin with, we can easily imagine how fierce and prominent her fiery response was. "Oh, is it really back to 'Miss Granger' again? How nauseatingly unsurprising, Severus." I simply refuse to recite in considerable details everything that transpired between our beloved Gryffindor Princess and her former professor next. Let's just say that their first official rendezvous did not go well.

It took only twenty-five minutes for the conversation to escalate to the boiling point. All the wrong and hurtful words were mentioned, including '_drunken mistake', 'one-night stand', 'lunatic', 'git'_, along with a few other equally offensive and unnecessary ones. The last straw was Severus saying, "I may assure you, Miss Granger, that you are highly delusional! I would even go so far as to state that the level of your cluelessness almost borders on imbecility!"

At this point, Hermione's gasp and the sudden appearance of a peculiar gleam in her brown eyes told Severus that he had perhaps gone too far. What the hell am I doing?

Bingo! Bravo Professor Snape – brilliant guess – most certainly too far.

"Yes, Severus, I was delusional, and I probably am a lunatic, thinking that you could care about me. However, it is now crystal clear to me that you are the biggest, vilest arse I ever met!" Hermione nearly turned away, her chocolate tresses curling furiously around her face; but paused and breathed out, "Oh, and an unfeeling, uncaring fuckwit as well!"

And that was the end of it. Our deeply wounded lioness huffed, turned on her heel and, in one striking swirl of chiffon, not hearing how her former professor regretfully moaned "Hermione," she disappeared in the miserably green flames of the Floo.

Severus' belated attempt to stop her proved futile, and he was thus left standing in front of his fireplace with the black cloud of soot flying all around him, and the image of Hermione in the crimson dress she was wearing swirling in his head. "Shit!" groaned our Potions master. This senseless battle was over, and two casualties retreated to nurse their wounds.

However, my friends, if you think that this night ended there for Severus, you are profoundly mistaken: it was only the beginning. For several minutes, Severus tried to calm himself down by running his fingers through his hair, by now covered with soot, and harshly rubbing his face. When that didn't help, our black-haired wizard went for the best calming remedy he knew – Firewhisky.

Alas, by the time our hapless lover was in his study, reaching for a glass and a bottle, an extremely loud and angry pop announced Casimir's arrival. Sensing the upcoming troubles, Severus hastily tried to grab the bottle with the Firewhisky. The elf, however, was much quicker. One snap of the creature's fingers and the bottle and the glass were in his hands.

Severus grunted with exasperation, walked to his desk, sat down and wearily said, "Casimir, stop being tiresome and give me the bottle."

The elf's stern facial expression did not forebode a quick capitulation. "Me thinks of Master. Me finds knickers. Me cooks the French dinner," creaked the elf, obviously extremely disappointed in his master. "And Master? Made Missy runs away. Why? No drinks! Master goes and brings Missy back to eat French dinner. Master goes now and brings Missy back." And the little elf stamped his little foot to emphasize his point. "No drinks without Missy back!"

This time Severus growled much louder as his annoyance began to engulf him entirely. "Casimir, stop that racket this instant. Give me the bottle and go away." Severus' livid, black eyes were throwing daggers at his servant. Naturally, the elf's lower lip began to tremble, and our wizard cursed under his breath.

The disgruntled elf uttered a loud sob and took two steps towards his master's desk. Next, he loudly and quite theatrically slammed the glass on the desk and poured the amber liquid in it.

"Here! Master can drink now. Master drinks alone, stays alone and dies alone." The elf narrowed his eyes and continued, "And Missy eats Wrinkly's bad cooking and lives with Mister Lucius. Mister Lucius wants Missy. Mister Lucius keeps Missy, and Missy gives him babies. Master drinks now. Drink, Master!"

After that dramatically delivered monologue, an already sobbing in full-blown hysterics Casimir disappeared with a heartwrenchingly sad pop.

"_Mister Lucius… Missy…babies_…" A menacing echo reverberated throughout the room. A second later Severus rose abruptly, growled something which sounded vaguely like, "Oh no, Lucius, not this time," and vanished from the room.

That's one witty little elf our Potions master has, don't you think? Not to mention, an excellent cook too.

_**'Tis a Lesson You Should Heed, Try, Try Again **_  
_**If at First You Don't Succeed, Try, Try Again **_

Lucius Malfoy appeared at the back door of the Leaky Cauldron only seven and a half minutes after he had received their owl. It was a good thing that this particular Friday evening he was fully dressed and ready. His springy, predatory movements spelt out his intentions clearly – Lord Malfoy was on a hunt. Naturally...

Ah, you can imagine, my friends, the sort of thoughts that were swirling in Lucius' mind. _Has Severus screwed up already? It has been... what? A week_.

Not that Lucius was surprised, no, not at all. Sure, Severus' inability to keep a witch was very well known, but a week? This was extreme even for someone as infamous in this respect as the Potions master. Lucius was curious as to what exactly his so-called friend had done.

Of course, my darlings, it would be safe to say that the joy that little, skittish-looking owl had brought into Lucius' heart was nothing short of immeasurable. He had been miserable for the most part of the week, without even mentioning how significantly darker his mood had become after receiving Severus' poker night cancellation. Oh, what horrible scenes had dashed through the poor mind of our Lord Malfoy! Only imagine – Hermione and Severus dining, Hermione and Severus kissing, and so on.

Some of them were simply unbearable – she was almost his bride, for Merlin's sake! Lucius chose her – her fate was already predetermined in his crafty, Slytherin mind. The fact that the witch herself didn't have a clue about his plans did not trouble our blond in the slightest. The little lioness would surely come along. Why on earth would she not?

What about matters of blood purity, you ask, my darlings? Oh, come on. After the man had been declared an unfit husband and father, abandoned by his wife and his only son and heir, after his family's centuries' old dignities had become undone, there was no space for concern about bloodlines. The very survival of the Malfoys was at stake. Hermione Granger, as an angel and saviour, had fit the bill perfectly.

There weren't any doubts in Lucius' mind about his ability to impress the young Gryffindor. The only slight hiccup in his plan was her apparent obsession with Severus. Inexplicable, really. What did she see in him? No, decided Lucius. Nothing to think about – the young witch simply had a peculiar taste in wizards. Extremely peculiar, that was.

Dispelling all these thoughts, Lucius Malfoy opened the door of the Leaky Cauldron and entered. With a quick glance, the target was identified. There she was, by the bar, perched on a bar stool in a vivid crimson chiffon dress. Our blond approached quietly, watching the young witch carefully and wanting to test the waters first. Hermione didn't look drunk. A barely touched glass of Firewhisky stood in front of her. Evidently, the two helpings of Firewhisky reported in the note were a slight exaggeration. That was even better, though; Lucius didn't want the witch to be drunk.

Silently, Lucius inserted himself between the nearest bar stool and the girl. You understand, of course, that Lucius Malfoy would rather die than perch his aristocratic self on a high bar stool! In awe, he observed the picture before him; she looked delectable. The curls, the forms, the red chiffon clinging to her in all the right places were irresistible and utterly mouth watering. The only exception was the pinkish hue of the witch's eyes. Apparently, she had been crying before she arrived.

_Severus, Severus, what had you done? Oh well, your loss is my gain. _

"Miss Granger, what a nice surprise. Good evening, darling," murmured Lucius to Hermione's ear, tilting his head towards her slightly.

She jumped a little, startled by his proximity. Soon, however, she checked her initial reaction and replied, "Mister Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Her eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"I came here for a drink, like everybody else," replied Lucius as he shrugged his shoulders "Why, Miss Granger, aren't I allowed to have a drink?" he mockingly continued, allowing a light and mischievous smile to appear on his lips.

Hermione blushed, and a lovely rose colour covered her cheeks. "No, I mean, yes, of course you are allowed. Thank you for the beautiful flowers, by the way. Sorry for not sending a thank you card earlier." And with that, the most delicious, bashful smile graced the young witch's plump lips.

Lucius' body reacted immediately. Shit, it's been too long.

Lucius shifted and groaned inwardly. His trousers suddenly became just a little too tight. "No worries, darling, no worries. And you are indeed most welcome," he answered the girl with his own dazzling smile. Simultaneously, he gestured to a barman to bring him a drink.

Once the drink was in his possession, Lucius tilted his head to her once again and murmured seductively, "Have a drink with me, Miss Granger," his lips lightly brushing Hermione's ear.

The witch's breath hitched, and she shivered almost imperceptibly. "Sure," she breathed out. "What are we drinking to, Mister Malfoy?"

Lucius gave her question momentary consideration. "I propose that we drink to the beginning of our relationship." Noticing Hermione's quizzical arched brows, Lucius corrected, "To our acquaintance, so to speak. After this drink, you will call me Lucius and I, in turn, will call you Hermione. How about that, Miss Granger?"

The challenging smile on the blond wizard's lips and the teasing sparkles in his grey eyes reached their goal. No true Gryffindor could possibly ignore this challenge. Hermione giggled and said, "Very well, Lucius, to you then."

"Indeed, Hermione, indeed, and to you as well. Cheers." Of course, Lucius Malfoy simply couldn't stop there. He felt rather greedy and decided to push his luck even further. The moment they finished their drinks, he gently put his long, well-groomed, aristocratic hand on the witch's soft, rounded knee and whispered, "How about a little friendly kiss, Hermione, just to confirm our newly acquired friendship. Mm?"

Our Gryffindor princess froze in indecision, her amber eyes darting to Lucius' smiling lips. Slowly, very, very slowly, so he wouldn't frighten his prey, our blond shortened the distance between them. His grey eyes held her amber ones prisoners, not giving the witch an opportunity to break his control over the situation. Closer and closer, Lucius could already feel her sweet and slightly feverish breath caressing his skin. One more inch and...

Unexpectedly, a deep and extremely annoyed baritone broke the spell between them. "Miss Granger."

Hermione emitted an urgent sigh and turned towards the voice.

"Severus, what are you doing here?"

"May I have a word, Miss Granger?" muttered Severus. Our Potions master looked dishevelled, lost and extremely angry all at the same time. He glanced at Lucius for just a second and gave him a curt half nod.

Lucius' grey gaze became icy and menacing. Without any hesitation, Lord Malfoy decided to interfere, "Severus, as you probably—"

However, both Hermione and Severus raised their hands toward Lucius, gesturing to him to be quiet. Our blond hissed "shit," under his breath and then fell into silence.

"Why, Severus, I thought you had told me everything. What is there left to talk about?"

Severus ran his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture and after a moment of hesitation said, "Hermione, please, we need to talk," and with that he extended his hand to her. "Please, come with me."

The combination of 'Hermione', 'please' and the intensity of feelings in Severus' black eyes made it entirely impossible for our girl to reject him. With a long, deep sigh, she jumped off the stool, put her little hand in our Potions master's manly grasp, and together they left, leaving one blond wizard to seethe and simmer in a silent fury.

Please don't worry, my friends. Let me remind you that persuasion and persistence are among the Malfoys' strongest traits.


	8. Chapter Seven

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

___Chapter Seven_

**__****Black Eyes**

It was dark and dreadfully hot. The air was suffocatingly stuffy. The sharp, uneven edges of the century-old stone wall were digging into Hermione's back, making her uncomfortable. For the last three minutes, our young witch had been trapped between the old wall and the unyielding body of our Potions master. Nervous silence hung in the air, making it even harder to breathe. The level of Hermione's ire was rising by the minute, filling her with the acidity of unfulfilled expectations. They were supposed to talk. She was expecting, and quite ready to hear an apology.

Let's see, my dear friends, how our princess had gotten herself into that narrow spot, between the unsurprisingly reticent wall and the equally reticent Potions master, shall we?

The instant the door of the Leaky Cauldron had been shut closed after them, Hermione had been turned, twisted and pushed rather unceremoniously against the hard surface. Severus' breath had raged somewhere near her left ear while his nose had been seemingly poking into her hair. It had been pretty difficult for Hermione to be certain about their exact position, due to the fact that the wizard's body had been pressed tightly and heavily against hers. His weight had effectively and fully immobilized the witch, and she couldn't move at all. Heck, she could hardly breathe, as her face had been tucked into Severus' scratchy robes.

You and I know, of course, that any other day, Hermione Granger would love to be pressed against the wall by Severus Snape, especially in the dark corner. Any day, any time. And, in actual fact, she had enjoyed it only the previous Friday, and she had fantasized about a moment like this more than once. Dark and brooding Severus Snape and she in her crimson chiffon dress, his hot breath on her skin, his fingers between her thighs..._ Mmm... Oh, Merlin! _

Yet, frankly, this particular moment was not the right moment at all. After everything that had transpired between them over the past week, it was apparent that today was not the right day and now was most certainly not the right time. What they needed to do was talk, calmly and politely, as a civilized witch and a wizard.

To be true to the facts, for the first two minutes our sensible witch kept her hopes high, thinking that the wizard needed a minute or two to gather his composure and, perhaps, to find the words, and she thus had waited patiently. However, the period of silence dragged on, and the only sound Hermione could detect was Severus' ragged breathing. Our young Gryffindor's patience ran thin and then disappeared entirely. There was perhaps one more minute of contemplation until Hermione decided to act.

_What is wrong with this wizard?_She thought with vexation.

"Severus," rasped Hermione, her voice muted by his robes, as she pushed her fists not too gently at the wizard's chest.

After that nudge, our Potions master finally sprang to life. Only Merlin knew what he had been waiting for. Men! He shifted slightly, lifting his weight from the witch and giving her an opportunity to breathe and move again. Then, after a brief, awkward hesitation, Severus' black eyes focused on Hermione, and he uttered, "My behaviour was wrong and inappropriate, Hermione. I had assumed things I should not have and for that, I apologize. It is I who was delusional." Then again, silence fell between them.

However, this silence was remarkably different. Oh, how easily the sound of the wizard's deep baritone destroyed all Hermione's rebukes! How irrevocably the passionate fire in his eyes burned all her doubts and how quickly one word of an apology made nonexistent all her uncertainties, at the same time melting her heart and inflaming her body.

All she could see now was his anguish. His tormented gaze brought tears to her amber eyes. Of course, our gentle-hearted girl couldn't watch her former professor stumbling over each and every word. It was just too much to bear for her.

So, naturally, after a brisk pause and a deep sigh, Severus continued, "It is hard to let yourself believe in the possibility of happiness, Hermione. I... do not know how... "

"Shh," she said, and a warm, little hand was pressed to the thin lips of our Potions master. "Shh, I know. I understand and I am sorry. I was too quick to judge." And just like that, our young Gryffindor took everything on her frail shoulders, as usual.

How could she not, my dear friends? Just think about it. She knew all too well how much he had suffered, how hard his life had been and how bleak his future had looked at times. Then again, at that moment in time, Hermione Granger probably declared herself in love with Severus Snape. So how could she possibly let him suffer for even a millisecond longer? It was impossible.

The soft, warm, and so mightily enticing little hand, which was pressed so daringly to our Potions master's lips, served as a sure sign for him that he was forgiven, and our wizard was unable to keep himself in check any longer. The next instant, Severus pressed an open-mouth kiss against Hermione's palm, and his hands sneaked around her waist.

She, of course, reacted immediately by rising on her toes and pressing her lips to his without any hesitation. Ironically, but oh so predictably, it now felt so right, and so breathtakingly sensual, to be trapped between such a marvellous, century-old stone wall and a so wonderfully hard and muscled body. The dark corner was just perfect, and the moment was simply precious.

With their first encounter having been as impulsive and hectic as it had, this time both of them felt the need to take things slowly. And if Severus' roughly whispered, "Brace yourself, witch," followed by their disappearance into thin air was anything to judge by, this time they preferred privacy, as well.

_**Passionate Eyes **_

The moment our lovers landed in Severus' bedroom, their lips moulded into a searing kiss again. Severus' hands roamed freely over Hermione's curves, mapping, exploring, learning, memorizing. His lips were incessant and demanding, not leaving her any space for wavering.

When a break for air was deemed necessary, the black-haired wizard murmured, leisurely nibbling at the sensitive skin behind the witch's ear, "Would you like to have dinner first? We have French cuisine today."

While waiting for Hermione's response, he traced the outline of her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. That made her gasp, and she muttered hastily, "Scratch the dinner, Severus. Let it be French breakfast tomorrow."

He let out a hoarse chuckle and said, "As you wish, witch."

Abruptly, Hermione was once again turned and shifted until Severus had her back against him, with his rigid length pressing insistently into her bum. The wizard's hot mouth descended on her the next second, taking the witch by surprise. Hungrily, he kissed and nipped at the exposed skin of her neck, forcing her to shiver and whimper.

The air was soon filled with husky moans, weak whines, jagged breathing and muffled gasps. Severus kept the upper hand in their movements, overpowering Hermione with his controlling attitude. The growls and groans he was emitting, along with occasional light swearing, vibrated against Hermione's skin, arousing her even more, and nearly burning her alive.

Firmly holding her in place, Severus busied himself with the delicate task of unzipping the young witch's crimson dress. His dexterous fingers were opening the dress inch by little inch, giving his hungry, greedy mouth more territory to kiss, to nibble and to lick. More than once during that torturously slow exploration of her body, Hermione tried to turn and face Severus. Each time, however, with a low mutter of, "Stay still, witch," he prevented her from doing so. Not her moans, not her cries, not even her sweet, "Severus, please," had worked. He was unwavering. And so, our girl moaned and panted and gasped for air, leaving him to ravish her just the way he liked it.

By the time the wizard's hands had found their way to her sensitized breasts, fondling their softness and teasing her nipples, which were begging for attention, Hermione was at her wits' end. Weakened by the outrageously long foreplay, she reached for Severus and got a hold of his neck, arching her back ecstatically as she did so. At this point, when the witch's mewls and moans appeared dangerously desperate, our strict and controlling wizard decided that the time had come to manoeuvre them to bed.

After their first dual steps, the crimson dress, fully opened by now, slid to the floor, creating a strikingly bright crimson puddle and leaving Hermione in only her knickers. The sodden, flesh-coloured knickers caught the wizard's attention, and a deep and guttural moan lodged in his throat. The next instant, the little witch was swept into his arms and, in one swift movement, they both were on the bed, with Hermione laying on her stomach.

In mere seconds, the wizard was on his knees, his hands immediately moving to claim the witch's pert bum. With an appreciative humming sound, our Potions master was licking and kissing Hermione's perfectly rounded bottom, paying equal attention to each plump and ripe cheek and making the silk of her knickers even wetter with his tongue.

Apparently, Severus Snape was a bum lover. Who could have imagined that, huh?

Only when Severus was satisfied with the attention he had paid to her bottom was Hermione able to turn and face the wizard. Once again, their lips met in a smouldering kiss.

Gradually ending the kiss, Severus redirected his attention to her overheated body, now glistening with perspiration. His lips and tongue possessively traced all her contours and curves, nibbled gently at her taut, pink peaks, licked her belly button and then, with resolution, moved southward.

In one impatient movement, the wizard pushed Hermione's knees up, growled, "Open," and buried his enormous nose between her thighs. She had only managed to exhale, "Severus, oh God!" before her knickers were discarded and she was nearly consumed by her ravenously hungry lover.

When the young witch was again able to perceive reality around her, and a quick glance revealed that her lover was still fully clothed, it was Hermione's turn to torment him with the slow peeling of his many layers of clothing, kissing, biting, and sucking at every newly opened patch of skin.

And, oh Merlin, did she let him suffer this time. Hermione used everything she had in her arsenal – lips, teeth, tongue, fingers, nails – everything. She was fondling and probing, kissing and biting, caressing and coaxing, until Severus' skin was tingling and tickling all over, and he was groaning, moaning and twisting with abandon.

By the end of this torture, our black-haired wizard found himself totally nude, painfully aroused and in need of immediate friction. Hermione, with her hair curling wildly around her flushed face, pushed him on his back and hovered over him dangerously as a wicked smile played on her swollen lips.

She even tried to tease him further, descending tortuously slowly onto his eager and leaking in anticipation length. But the wizard, now enraged and desperate for release, impaled her on himself in one frenzied motion, forcing them both to gasp and groan from the overwhelming sensation.

Now, there was only one thing left for them – to ride this erotic madness to its glorious end. Sure enough, the over-controlling Potions master didn't give Hermione an opportunity to be on the top for too long. He shifted them soon enough and kept driving into the hot, wet, tight and oh-so-welcoming heat of his witch in ecstasy, marvelling in breathtakingly pleasant sensations and listening to her decadent mewls.

Eventually, with his powerful and masterfully angled thrusts, along with his deft fingers that squeezed and teased the right button at the right moments, Severus pushed Hermione over the edge, following her into an abyss with a low growl and a few last jerks.


	9. Chapter Eight

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

_Chapter Eight_

**Sunny Morning**

Soft popping sounds, muffled voices and the tinkling of porcelain china being moved had awakened Hermione. Slowly, she opened her eyes, lifted herself onto her elbows and looked around with interest.

Quite understandably, our young witch wasn't terribly observant yesterday. You do remember that the previous night our heroine was rather intensely preoccupied otherwise. All of her attention had been centered on only on one part of the room, one piece of furniture to be precise—the bed. She had noticed nothing else in the room.

Of course, Severus Snape undertook noteworthy efforts to ensure that during the night, our witch had come to know his bed quite closely and intimately. It would be fair to say that by dawn, this bed was almost more familiar to her than her own.

Thus, with the morning sun shining enthusiastically through the glass of the old window, Hermione was curious. Her warm, amber gaze slid slowly over the ascetic interior of the Potions master's bedroom. Everything there was simple, yet practical—crisp white walls with wood finishes, rich walnut furniture. Heavy green draperies made her smile at this tribute to Slytherin House colours. Books and accessories were organized and placed with surgical precision so that nothing looked out of place. Well, except for one vivid, crimson piece of chiffon on the floor... Also, there was something beige, crumpled and vaguely familiar lying in the far corner. _Hmm._

A gently opened door abruptly interrupted the witch's perusal of the bedroom. Through the narrow opening, Hermione could hear a familiar baritone hiss, "Casimir, no!" The next second, a wrinkled face peeked inside, and then promptly disappeared. The door, however, was left ajar.

"See, Master, Missy not sleeps, Missy Hermione awakes," sounded a triumphant elf's squeaky voice, followed by Severus' exasperated sigh and something almost inaudible, ending with a 'k'.

"Breakfast is ready, Master. Me keeps breakfast warm all morning. Missy Hermione eats French breakfast in bed." The elf continued his happy chirping, obviously trying to convince his master of the necessity of taking the morning meal in bed.

The highly irritated voice of one Potions master muttered, "Give me that, Casimir. You can leave now, and don't pop up here until I'll call you," indicating that his master was indeed defeated. A full minute later, the door was finally opened entirely. A peeved, dishevelled and not quite fully dressed Severus Snape, with the breakfast tray in his hands, appeared on the threshold.

Here, my friends, let us pause and visualize. I want you to savour this moment, because the picture here is truly worth a thousand words. Just imagine—our Potions master stood there topless! His hair was for once all over the place, undoubtedly due to the wild tumbling in bed the previous night. His extremely sour facial expression was entirely out of tune with the lively breakfast display he held in his hands – a tray full of goodies in glossy white china. There even was a small red rose on the side. Is it not a hilarious image?

It wasn't exactly the picture Hermione had imagined a week ago, with Severus in an apron, but it was close enough. She bit her lower lip in order to suppress hysterical giggles, which rose in her throat and threaten to escape.

The moment our sour-faced wizard shut the door and his onyx eyes focused on the young lioness, she rose to a seated position, thereby allowing the white sheet to slide down and offering him a front-row view of her nude bosoms. This change seemed to significantly improve the Potions master's mood.

The shade of a faint smile touched the corners of Severus' lips. His face lost its sourness, and he uttered, "Good morning." The heated gaze of the wizard's black eyes caressed the young witch's curves as he covered the distance between them. And then, after he sat down on the bed and carefully manoeuvred the tray to her lap with a husky whisper of "breakfast", Severus, not waiting for an answer, launched himself on the dusty pink, bare nipple, his hungry mouth closing on it.

Here my friends, I am happy to report that breakfast proved to be a rather lengthy, intense and messy affair, which satisfied both of their appetites. Casimir fortunately refrained from popping up uninvited.

_**Foggy Afternoon**_

Quite surprisingly for our golden girl, she had spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday at Severus' house. Even though Severus hadn't actually voiced his desire for the witch to stay, he did reveal his wishes quite boldly by ending Hermione's every attempt to leave with a passionate encounter, after which they both were unable to move for a while.

At some point, our young lioness had been reacquainted with her blue knickers. She was also presented with a white shirt and soft lounge trousers that were fitted for her with one swift move of the Potion master's hand. She wore them for the rest of her stay.

Despite the impression I may have given that our lovers only spent their time in intimate games, they did actually talk quite a lot during this weekend. Well, ahem, let's say—Hermione talked and Severus listened, offering his comments here and there. Our chatty little lioness quickly covered the entire eight years during which they had not interacted, possibly giving Severus more information about the Wizarding community that he ever wanted to be given. But that was a small price for having the young witch around, and Severus thus paid it willingly.

Of course, before long, our bookworm had found, in her opinion, the gem of the villa—the library. I am, however, fairly certain, that in Severus' opinion, the crown jewel of the villa was his potion laboratory, which he also presented to the young witch. The lab favourably impressed Hermione, exceedingly so, yet the size and the content of the library struck her much, much more forcefully.

That is where our black-haired wizard found her on Sunday afternoon after he had finished brewing a small batch of potions, which were due on Monday. She was curled comfortably facing the door on the tufted velvet settee, with her legs tucked close to her chest and her bum clad in Severus' lounge trousers. It was a view our bum-loving Potions master most certainly couldn't miss, and so he acted accordingly.

There were only three seconds before Severus' hands claimed the witch. He quickly turned her to him and sealed her mouth with a searing kiss, snatching her surprised exclamation "Severus!" right from her plump lips. The book was sent to the shelf with a wandless spell, and pretty soon they were both nude, with our Potions master nestled deeply inside his witch. They moved and groaned in unison, his hot mouth on her skin, and her soft lips on his. They kissed and bit, licked and sucked, and bit again. The tempo was increasing by the minute, and they both reached the pinnacle quite quickly.

With a satisfied groan, Severus slid onto the rug as the settee was simply too short for his long limbs. Hermione crept over to his chest, covering his hard body with her soft, pliant form. His hands sneaked around her waist and held her tightly, and they lay there silently, savouring that perfect moment in full.

Alas, my darlings, everything perfect and beautiful always eventually has to give way to something that is not so perfect. And that was precisely what had happened during a nice and, thanks to Casimir's tremendous efforts, almost romantic dinner. Our lovers were engaged in a lovely conversation when suddenly Hermione remembered that she hadn't told Severus the most momentous news. "Oh, my, I forgot to tell you, Severus. This Thursday I'll be giving the first presentation of my 'Magical Creatures' Rights' initiative. I'll have only three presentations before the Ministry heads will officially vote." A lovely blush appeared on the young witch's cheeks. "I am so nervous and inspired at the same time. If my initiative should pass, it will be the start of a new era."

If our Potions master had paid more attention, he would have noticed the intense scrutiny she was paying him. Her amber eyes were focused on him, taking in his absentminded nods and mutters of "hmm, hmm, yes, yes," while he was consuming his dinner. A faint, dark spark flared up briefly in Hermione's eyes, and she asked, "Would you like to come to the presentation, Severus?"

"Me? Why?" he answered, finally looking at her. "No, thank you. Believe me, Hermione. I barely have enough patience for the one social event a year. And this year's quota was already exceeded by my presence at the Victory Ball." His black, unfathomable eyes watched his lover for a few more minutes and then, with a slight nod, he continued with his dinner, looking perfectly unperturbed.

Our golden girl drew a long sigh. The excited blush on her face faded, and with a softly spoken, "Oh, right," she too, continued with her dinner. An uncomfortable silence settled in the air.

Since Casimir knew his master too well, he luckily was adequately prepared. The little creature masterfully drew attention to the pivotal moment of the dinner, the grand finale so to speak—the elf's magnificent crème brûlée. A delicious dessert and a delightful aperitif, which Severus himself had fished from his bar, did indeed slightly ease the tension between our lovers. The soft peals of the witch's laugher had returned, mellow chatter filled the dining room once again, and the evening regained its previous peacefulness. All seemed just fine...

An hour later when Hermione stood in front of Severus' fireplace, already wearing her crimson dress and ready to leave, Severus did not hesitate and drew her to him. He pressed his lips to her closed eyes and whispered, "Will I see you again, witch? Come over on Friday, after work, will you?" With that, the ever-stoic Potions master gave his lover one last, chaste kiss and let go of her. Our girl opened her glistening eyes and exhaled, "'till Friday, Severus."

The Floo's green flames swallowed her in the next second.

_**Strategies and Tactics, or a Comeback—The Malfoy Style**_

This early Monday morning proved to be surprising for Hermione's administrative assistant Lora. She was running a bit late and was rushing through the Ministry corridors, not paying much attention to the normal craziness around her at the start of the workweek.

In her hands, she was holding the massive stack of invitations to the presentations of her boss' law initiative. Lora had been working on them during the weekend and was quite proud of her efforts and happy with the results. The invitations were superbly produced—bright and informative in a spare, sophisticated style. She would have to drop them at the mailroom before she went to her office because Hermione insisted that it was crucial for all Ministry officials to receive the invitations first thing in the morning.

Breathless after the brisk walk, Lora was already close to the mailroom when she heard footsteps behind her and a pleasantly sounded drawl, "Miss, Miss," stopped the girl in her tracks. Intrigued, Lora abruptly turned around and collided with the firm and quite broad chest of our one and only Lord Malfoy. The impact caused all her weekend's efforts to fly from her hands.

_Oh, no!_ The thoughts began to swirl in Lora's head, her eyes full of horror._No!_The disaster, however, was not destined to happen. One elegant movement of the quickly drawn wand froze everything in mid-flight, and a moment later the neatly folded pile of papers were in Lucius' hands. He was studying their content with genuine interest.

"Mister Malfoy," whispered a flustered girl, "thank you so much, thank you," and Lora attempted to take the flyers from the blond wizard's hands. He, however, was not in a hurry to return them to her. In the millisecond of a pause, Lucius seemed to consider something.

"Lora, if I am not mistaken, right? Good morning, darling, how are you?" Lucius began a polite chat. "I am sorry, Lora, I was so clumsy, Monday morning, you know," the wizard's deep chuckle and his dashing smile made the young girl lower her eyes and lightly blush. Clearly the clumsier of the two, the girl was desperately trying to find the courage to say something daring and witty. _Agh,_she had seen her boss Hermione doing so many times before, but alas, Lora's brain and tongue refused to work. The wizard was too intimidating.

"What are those, dear? Ah, they are invitations to Miss Granger's presentations. How delightfully interesting. Very nicely done, Lora. Very, very nice." Lucius continued his masterful game with the goal already in his mind. Poor, unsuspecting Lora blushed a bright red colour. Never before had a wizard of Lucius Malfoy's scale and appeal complimented her so profoundly.

"Lora, darling, I meant to ask you before our collision. Could you please do me a favour and put this rose on Miss Granger's desk. I would appreciate it immensely." Lucius put a single, proudly yellow rose in the dazed girl hand. By now, Hermione's administrative assistant could only nod. The ability to utter words had left her a few minutes ago.

"Thank you, darling. I owe you now, my dear," and with that, the last accurate and decisive manoeuvre was made. "Do you need to send these, Lora?" Lucius asked, pointing at the flyers, which were still in his hands. "Yes? Oh, let me do it for you, darling. It's the least I can do for you after my unspeakable clumsiness and you kindly agreeing to do me a favour. I will put them into today's post right away, darling. Thank you again for your help. Bye. On your way now." Lord Malfoy's palm actually gave a little slap to the girl's bottom just to bring her back to reality.

Lora, still dazed and flushed, muttered, "Thank you, Mister Malfoy," and disappeared in the morning's crowd. Lucius Malfoy was left standing with his trophy in his hands. He was extremely pleased with himself, with the morning, with Lora. The huge pile of brightly coloured invitations in his hands was nothing less than the shortest way to the heart of his soon-to-be bride. As you can probably guess, my dear readers, our blond had already developed an ingenious plan and was going to implement it immediately. Only minutes later, the beautiful and slightly modified flyers had been sent to all Ministries' officials.

Lucius left the Ministry in an excellent mood. For the first time in the last two and half days, he was back on his horse. Presented with the lucky opportunity, he had made his move brilliantly and now all the players would be forced to play his game by his rules. _Oh, yes!_That was the game at which he was remarkably proficient—the manipulator to the core. A successful Monday morning, indeed.


	10. Chapter Nine

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

___Chapter Nine_

**About the Danger of Dashing Smiles, Blond Locks and Yellow Roses**

A little later, on that same Monday morning, our Gryffindor lioness stepped into her office only to find there a flushed, glassy-eyed and not entirely coherent Lora. The poor administrative assistant was still more than slightly dazed after her morning encounter with Lucius Malfoy.

In bewilderment, Hermione watched how, with trembling fingers, the poor girl was reverently arranging a single, long-stemmed, yellow rose on Hermione's desk.

The moment Lora noticed her boss at the entrance, she began babbling uncontrollably. "Oh, my goodness, Hermione, you would never guess what had happened to me today. Lucius Malfoy..." At this moment, Lora's blue eyes became even glassier than they had been before, and a trifle of concern for her employee's well-being made its way to Hermione's heart.

Fortunately, after a long and dreamy sigh, Lora gathered her thoughts again and continued. "Yes, just imagine, Hermione, I had a collision with Lucius Malfoy. Mmm," the girl said as she let out a breathy moan, "he is so bloody handsome. You know, his chest... it's just—there's miles of it, miles. And those shimmering, silver eyes. Oh, oh, and his smile." A somewhat hysterical giggle escaped from Lora's mouth. "I couldn't talk, seriously, I literally lost my voice. I could only nod. Can you imagine?"

To be honest, it was quite hard for our young boss to believe that. You see, Lora loved to talk, and she could actually do it for hours. Thus, Hermione took a preventive measure and interrupted this passionate ode to Lucius Malfoy.

"What did Malfoy want from you, Lora?"

"Oh, he asked me to put this rose on your desk. Isn't it pretty? So yellow. Oh, and his voice." The girl slipped into reverential mode again. "Soft, velvety, with a hint of darkness. I have spoken to him before, but today he was simply breathtaking." A breathy, wistful moan reverberated throughout the office again. Thoughtfully watching the girl's hazed eyes, Hermione guessed that Lora's imagination had taken her to a place where Lucius Malfoy could be found. A minute later, and looking even more flushed, the administrative assistant snapped out of her reverie, leaned toward her boss' ear and whispered, "You know, the moment he said 'Lora' and smiled—I fell apart completely. Seriously. I think my knickers are still totally soaked."

_Arrggghh, God, Lora!_

Now it was Hermione's turn to blush.

I'm sure you can tell, my dearies, that at that point, our heroine had heard quite enough. Hermione liked her administrative assistant. She honestly did. However, sometimes the girl truly gave her much more information than she cared to know.

The witch rolled her amber eyes at her assistant's nonsense. "Lora, please, can we get to work now? I really have tons of pressing matters—a presentation on Thursday, et cetera, et cetera. By the way, did you send out the invitations?"

Lora, thankfully, got the message and walked to the door. There, she turned for the last time. "Yes, of course I did. They all went out." With an enthusiastic smile she added, "Thank Merlin, I have a lunch with Zachary today. I am really not sure if I could get through the day after such an intense morning. You have to admit, boss—Lucius Malfoy is one hot wizard." And with that, she finally walked from the office and closed the door.

Phew! At last, Hermione was alone. Surprisingly, all these sighs and moans about Malfoy made her rather uncomfortably warm somewhere in the pit of her stomach. _How odd. _Her amber eyes focused on the yellow rose. _Hmm, what a strange choice of colour, _she thought, making the mental note to ask Neville about yellow roses. The rose, by the way, was truly beautiful—perfect, proud, almost flamboyantly bright.

Impulsively, she stretched her fingers to touch and gently caress the rose's dark green stem. It was thick, hard and smooth to the touch. Inexplicably, this action made the heat in Hermione's stomach creep down. She whimpered weakly and bit her lower lip. _Damn, Lora!_Luckily, a little note attached to the rose caught Hermione's eyes. Glad to redirect her attention and curiosity, Hermione reached for it, and the next instant an extremely sharp thorn punctured her finger. Immediately a bright, crimson drop appeared on her fingertip.

"Shit," cursed the young witch as she instinctively put her wounded finger in her mouth. Then, carefully minding the thorns, she took the note and read:

_Hermione, my dear,_

Please accept this rose as a tribute to the beginning of our relations. I hope they will be long, pleasant and fruitful for both of us.

Yours,

Lucius Malfoy

Our lioness frowned. Sure enough, with her quite—ahem—_active _weekend, Hermione had managed to forget entirely about her encounter with Lucius in the Leaky Cauldron last Friday. The note reminded her about Lucius' proposition of friendship, their drink, his palm on her knee and even the almost kiss.

_Oh, how easily he made her give in to his charms... _Hermione shook her head. Troubled thoughts filled our witch's head. To some extent, Lora was right—Lucius Malfoy was, in fact, one handsome wizard—smooth, elegant, evidently exceptionally skilled and experienced. With typical Gryffindor truthfulness and a sigh, she acknowledged these qualities. However, he was highly dangerous—this Slytherin snake. His smoothness was as deceiving as the stem of the yellow rose. Both were hiding their sharp thorns under a lush and elegant appearance. She knew perfectly well that Malfoy was not the wizard with whom she wanted to play games. Nope. He was too damn good at them.

_On the other hand,_ grinned Hermione—_he was too damn good period. And that charming, dazzling smile. Why does Severus never smile like that? Ahhh, what an asinine idea,_she scolded herself.

Our little witch didn't like the direction her thoughts were going. She was with Severus now, or at least, she thought she was with him. The black-haired wizard's position on this matter was a mystery. And let's face it, my friends, there was a decent chance that it would remain a mystery for a long, long, long time. Still, to be having these thoughts turning her on about the blond locks, grey eyes and full lips of our Lord Malfoy weren't right.

_Oh, yes, extremely dangerous wizard, indeed. _Armed with that helpful conclusion, Hermione returned to her Monday morning routine. She truly had piles of preparations to do before her presentation.

Ah, my darlings, and here is just a little piece of information for you—Lora did not return to work from her lunch with Zachary. Evidently, one young wizard got seriously lucky that Monday, and all thanks are due to our Lord Malfoy, by the way. That's right, Lucius. Why not share happiness with the world?

_**A Mere Girl**_

With all the preparations and last minute revisions, the week went by in a blur. Finally, Thursday afternoon was upon our golden girl, and she was ready. Exactly twenty-five minutes before she was due for her presentation, Hermione stood up, took a deep, calming breath and fixed her fitted lavender robes. The hazel eyes of our young politician focused on the photo where the green-eyed and extremely dishevelled young man was laughing light-heartedly.

In one brief move, the witch kissed her fingers and pressed them to the photo. "Wish me luck, Harry. This one is for you," she whispered and walked out of her office.

Five minutes later, after the brisk walk through the Ministry's corridors, Hermione was at the door of room number seven. There, she briefly paused and then bravely stepped inside.

To say that the room looked gloomy would be an understatement, my friends. Aghast, our witch gazed at the grey walls that badly needed painting. The outdated, boring, dimly lit interior consisted of a narrow stage, dreary wooden chairs, an unhealthy looking plant and a table in the corner. There, on the table, stood a pitcher and a glass. Both looked as they were thoroughly used by flies as a mating field for the last century... or maybe even longer.

However, it wasn't the downright terrible condition of the room that shocked Hermione the most, but the realization that the room was empty. Nobody was there. Hermione frowned and checked the room number again. Yup, number seven. And a sign on the door clearly stated: _Hermione Granger, Magical Creatures Rights Law Initiative Presentation, 4 pm._

Obviously, she wasn't ready for such an outcome. Never, even for a second, had our girl considered a complete lack of interest in her initiative. "Hmm, all right," muttered the young witch and began to organize the room for the presentation. If nothing else, Hermione Granger was an optimist to the core. There were still eighteen minutes before the start, and the Gryffindor in her hoped for the best.

At five minutes to four, when the poor witch was ready to give up, the doors were finally thrown open and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister, full of authority and self-importance, walked across the threshold. After him, a few wizards and witches surfaced as well. A sigh of relief escaped from Hermione's mouth.

Alas, her relief was short-lived. All in all, at four o'clock there were eight people present, which included Lora, who had arrived at the last second, five heads of different secondary Ministry departments, the Minister and... Lucius Malfoy, who, to Hermione's surprise, walked in and sat in the first row with a haughty expression, as if he completely owned the whole freaking place.

Of course, my darlings, you and I know that the invitations _were,_in fact, tampered with...

Perhaps, our crafty Lord Malfoy had the answer. Mm? I am sure that the information about who in fact had sent the invitations to the Ministry officials would've been much more crucial for Hermione than the condition of Lora's knickers. Lora, utterly swept off her feet by Lucius' charms, had failed to mention that particular circumstance of her Monday morning encounter with the wizard to her boss. Oh, well, no surprise there. Our Lord Malfoy knew precisely what he was doing—skilful and experienced Slytherin snake, indeed. Our unsuspecting heroine was left to deal with the consequences, not having a clue that she was being played like a pawn.

The presentation went smoothly and rather quickly. Only the Minister asked a couple of questions. The others, probably baffled by the low attendance, kept quiet and made a quick exit the second Hermione finished. Lora, smiling awkwardly, breathed out, "That was excellent," and disappeared as quickly as the others disappear.

Our Princess felt like a complete loser, of course, and a thought about Apparating home and crying in the bathroom was quite tempting. She had desperately wanted her initiative to get off to a better start. Slowly, she stepped down from the little stage and sank onto the first chair she stumbled to on her way. The heavy steps, low grunt and a creak of a chair next to her announced the Minister's presence.

"Why didn't they come?" whispered our amateur and utterly discouraged politician.

A big, warm palm patted her fragile shoulder, and she heard Kingsley's bass near her ear, "In the Wizarding society, Hermione, we are extremely fond of our traditions. I told you this before, but you didn't listen in your youthful ignorance. You need a strong wizard by your side, my dear. Even though you are a truly brilliant witch, and a war hero, most of the heads don't take you seriously enough. You are just a mere girl for them—no family yet, not even a significant other by your side. Think about it, Hermione." With that, the Minister lightly smoothed her wild, chocolate curls, stood up and left.

The Minister's words swirled in her head. The burning urge to stamp her feet, or yell, or swear loudly was pulsing wildly inside her. "A mere girl!" she muttered through her clenched teeth, and a single, hot tear made its way down her cheek.

"A mere girl your arse!"

_**Please Quiet! Seduction in Session!**_

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I never thought I would see the Gryffindor princess, the better part of the golden trio, so to say, in such a tearful state after only one minor bump along the way. Tsk, tsk, Hermione, Hermione, you are disappointing me." A familiar, pleasant drawl forced our witch to look up.

There, right in front of her stood Lord Malfoy in all his elegant glory. With one springy step, he moved closer to the witch, now melancholically slumped in the old chair, so that his knees, clad in black cashmere, were almost touching hers, and offered the girl his white, lacy handkerchief. "Here, my darling, wipe those tears immediately, before somebody notices." A soft, charming smile played on his lips, and his grey eyes were focused on her with a considerable amount of compassion in them.

"Mister M—," began Hermione, but noticing a questioningly arched single, blond eyebrow, she corrected herself. "Lucius, why are you here? I have never imagined that _Magical Creatures Rights Law _could interest you."

Lucius chuckled, "I am interested in politics, my dear Hermione, so _Magical Creatures Rights _is quite interesting for me." His smooth, mellow baritone was stirring something warm and fuzzy in Hermione's belly.

"I heard, by the way, the nonsense our beloved Minister was feeding to you." A hint of annoyance surfaced in the aristocratic drawl. "Don't mind him, Hermione. Even though I do agree that a strong wizard by your side could, in fact, help to boost your image. Yet, I firmly believe that today's low attendance was only due to the lack of the proper advertisement. You need to market your initiative more. You have to gather interest, create a trend, darling."

Listening to this, our lioness suddenly felt a surge of hope fill her heart. She didn't trust Lucius, not even for a second. However, her keen mind recognized a grain of reason in his words. The wizard had a point, a bloody good one. Almost against her will, a hopeful smile made its way to her bright-rose lips, and her caramel eyes focused on the blond man.

Sensing that he had gained the girl's undivided attention, the master manipulator leaned toward her ear while his arms came to rest on both sides of her chair, imprisoning the witch between them. In a deep, velvety baritone, he continued, "I could help you with that, Hermione. I have played politics long enough to become quite proficient in it."

Lucius' breath teased the sensitive skin on Hermione's neck, causing her breath to become laboured. The young woman's irregular air intake obviously didn't go unnoticed, and the blond wizard closed the last inches between them with one little tilt. Now, their knees were undoubtedly touching.

"Let me help you with it, Hermione. You'll see the difference immediately," murmured Malfoy and pushed even further toward her, discreetly trying to insert his left knee between Hermione's legs. A little _'ah' _escaped from Hermione's mouth. The wizard's boldness brought her mind back to reality. She firmly pushed her knees back together and tried her best to suppress a peculiar heat that began to spread from the pit of her stomach to certain regions located slightly lower.

"Why?" she managed to utter, common sense and caution kicking in at last. "What is there in it for you, Lucius?" The young lioness narrowed her eyes. Knowing quite well the dark past of this particular wizard, along with his general cunning tendencies, she was seriously doubting his motives and thus was watching his reactions to her questions very carefully.

A low huff and a chuckle was accompanied by, this time, a two-hundred-watt brilliant smile that almost dissolved Hermione's suspicions. "You are such vigilant creature, Hermione. Doubting my sincerity, my dear, well, well, well, you are right, of course. You are just too clever. Surely I have an interest in this."

Lucius paused, as if seeking the right words, and gently traced Hermione's jaw line.

"You see, my darling Hermione, the Malfoys are not yet at the level we held before the war. It's my fault, and it is my responsibility to remedy that. It would do me good to be seen helping such a progressive and well-known witch. What do you say, Hermione? Would you accept my help, would you be willing to let me work with you on the project? I will show you how to gain their interest, how to influence their minds, and you will show them how entirely I have reformed."

During this speech, the wizard did not move his silver eyes from the witch's brown ones not even for a second, and Hermione felt her heart begin literally to melt under his intense, shimmering gaze.

What can I say, my darlings? Hermione Granger wasn't made of stone, you know. She liked men and appreciated a good-looking bloke. Then again, he stood so near her that she could sense the distinctive, tantalizing scent of his outrageously expensive cologne, which wasn't helping at all.

She had to run. Now! But alas, the blond wizard hovered over her, not giving her any opportunity to flee, and Severus wasn't there to rescue her from the prison of these grey eyes. Hence, she was left to deal with her ill-timed arousal and its hot waves, which were by now unabashedly surging through the lower part of her body.

His eyes were focused on her face intensely, and the back of his hand softly caressed her cheek. Their noses were almost touching, and his blond locks were tickling her face. Desperate to break the heart-melting and body-burning eye contact, the poor witch tore her eyes from Lucius', only to land on Lucius' rather sensual lips.

_Shit, shit, shit, _was pulsating in her mind.

"Yes," breathed out the young Gryffindor, hoping earnestly that she would not regret this momentary lapse of judgment in the future.

"Wise decision, my darling, we will be the most powerful pair the British wizards ever knew, believe me," Lucius said as a triumphant smile lit up his handsome face. He took the witch's little hand and placed a long and altogether inappropriate kiss on her palm.

"When will we start? What about today, after a dinner perhaps?" The blond wizard was all over the young witch.

"No, Lucius, I am sorry, but I am tired," whispered Hermione, gathering the last shreds of her strength. "We will start on Monday, all right? Will lunch work for you?"

If Lord Malfoy was disappointed by this tiny rebuff, he didn't show it at all. The next instant, he finally straightened up and stepped back, giving Hermione the opportunity to rise from the chair. She practically jumped up, excited that she could finally escape Lucius' lust-evoking hands and eyes.

Evidently, the blond wizard was quite satisfied with the outcome and himself. After placing a light kiss on Hermione's hand, and murmuring, "See you Monday, my dear partner," he left, humming a refrain from Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries". Bedazzled and breathless Hermione, on the other hand, was left to peruse her thoughts.

The Slytherin snake, you say? Precisely, my dear readers.


	11. Chapter Ten

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

___Chapter Ten_

**Thursday's Broodings**

On Thursday evening, Severus Snape was brewing potions in his laboratory, as usual. He stood there in his stark black work-robes, hovering over the cauldron and counting the clockwise stirs of a spatula. The Potions master's movements were precise and accurate – each manoeuvre had its distinctive purpose. Nothing, not even the slightest motion of his long, deft fingers was wasted. He was brilliant at this, exceptionally, remarkably so.

Despite the focused and composed demeanour, our Potions master's thoughts ventured far beyond his laboratory. Severus had of course remembered Hermione's presentation; he was not _that _thick and unperceptive after all. He had noticed the witch's reaction to his indifference. He knew his lack of interest saddened and maybe even angered her. The witch was not pleased with him.

Did it bother him? Was Severus Snape displeased with himself for causing sadness to his rather unexpectedly acquired lover? Our Potions master had mulled over that exact issue for nearly a week now and couldn't find the answer.

_Bollocks!_

Well, let us now take a closer look at our black-haired wizard's dilemma, shall we. We know quite well, my dear ones, that Severus, by fate's cruel will, had spent the majority of his years as a lonely soul. His heart had hardened after many years of loneliness and misery. Hence, he became a lone wolf – oops, let me rephrase this – a lone Potions master. At least, he perceived himself this way. That was Severus' firm opinion on the matter, and thus, he carried on with his life accordingly, until goaded by a momentary impulse induced by jealousy and Lucius, he had invited a tornado, named _'Hermione Granger'_, into his life.

Severus Snape did not count on this to happen – it was a contingency. It brought consequences he did not anticipate. He was not ready for them, not prepared to deal with them, and to be honest, I am not even confident that he needed them all that much.

But the Potions master longed for Hermione Granger, you'll say. He desired her, he thought about her. Yes, yes and yes, he did. From afar. For eight years. And do you remember? He saw her once a year at the ball and felt content in his woe for the remaining twelve months.

However now, when he suddenly had her, everything began to change around him. It was hard. He wasn't complaining – it was just that Severus Snape was not used to having someone in his life. The thought of an obligation to participate actively in the witch's life, and (oh, horror!) letting her participate in his, was a foreign concept to him and, to be frank, scared the hell out of him. Yup, my darlings, you heard me correctly – our wizard was scared of the change, extremely so. He wasn't the first man with this particular predicament, and he most certainly would not be the last.

He could easily comply with and enjoy the passion, lust, and desire of their sexual life, but showing compassion, expressing feelings, planning for the future, making public appearances on the other hand, were extremely challenging for our Potions master.

This witch brought a complete and utter chaos to his home, strewing knickers and dresses on his bedroom floor. After only two weeks, Severus managed to lose his only friend over her. Moreover, his house-elf went nuts forcing Severus to serve breakfasts in bed _"because missy Hermione likes it"_.

The loss of control over his own bloody mind was infuriating and difficult for Severus to endure. His thoughts constantly circled around Hermione, her full rose-coloured lips, her nicely sized breasts, her perfectly rounded bottom and her hot, wet …. _Argh, damn it! _The Potions master nearly lost count. He shook his head and continued his brooding.

Where had his quiet and comfortable misery gone? It had disappeared, irrevocably destroyed by a fiery, talkative and, oh well, let's face it, quite passionate Gryffindor lioness. She made him think about trivial matters. Thoughts as _'Will the witch come? When she will come? How long will she stay?'_now were constantly swirling in his head. Besides, he still couldn't decide if he should've paid more attention to t he little witch's political endeavours.

The thought, _his little witch_, bolted through wizard's mind and he swore under his breath. Possessiveness had struck again. Our Potions master huffed in dismay and began to stir the potion counter clockwise, counting the stirs again.

By the time the potion was done, Severus had reached a conclusion – he would try to live up to Hermione's expectations. He would ask her about the presentation.

There, not a lame start, huh?

**_Friday_**

Overture

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The witch was going to arrive at the villa pretty soon. Severus sat in his library reading. Or, to be precise, he was trying to read. The fact that he was actually waiting for the witch could not be admitted even to himself.

_He, Severus Snape, would never succumb to such weakness. He was a formidable wizard for Merlin's sake, and he would not sit and wait like some adolescent nitwit for a mere witch to make it there. _And, with that, our Potions master reread the same line in the book for the third time. Or was it fifth time?

Evidently, the reading was not going well. Thus, after a few more futile attempts and with a quietly uttered, "Bugger," he closed the book, carefully put it on the side table, stood up and walked out of the library.

**_Act One – Love_**

The clock chimed eight times. Our Potions master now sat in the armchair in his living room, across from the fireplace, and waited. Half an hour before Severus had finally settled in this location, right after he sent Casimir away with the strict order not to pop up anywhere near the rooms until he was called.

And yes, he, the formidable wizard, waited for the _witch _to surface, all pretences be damned. Our Potions master had been yearning to have the slight witch in his arms since the early morning. And since early morning he had tried to deny this control-consuming yearning.

However, for the last few hours the desire for the witch had been so overwhelming that it overruled everything in its way and forced our wizard to submit. Severus was so eager to feel Hermione quivering in ecstasy beneath him that there was no room in his mind for any other thoughts. He had dreamt about it for the whole bloody week for Merlin's sake.

In other words, he needed the witch, and he needed her now! The talks about her political moves and other proprieties would have to wait!

Naturally, the moment Severus heard the roar of the Floo and saw her soft womanly silhouette in the green flames, he urgently rose and in one wide stride covered the distance between him and the fireplace. The next instant he had his arms full of one warm, curvy and oh-so-responsive Hermione Granger. Not wasting any time on preambles, greetings and other nonsense, our wizard, desperately hungry for the witch, found her lips and possessed them fully and irrevocably. The young lioness, pleasantly surprised by her lover's eagerness, reciprocated with the same vigour.

Very soon they both were breathless, and Severus' lips moved onto the sensitive skin behind Hermione's ear, growling into her hair, "I missed you witch. I need you, now! Are you ready for me? We need to get you ready for me..." The hoarse murmur caused the young witch to shudder in anticipation. The quick and nimble fingers of her lover already had begun to open her robes, with his warm mouth closely following the path created by them.

What about the bedroom, you ask, my friends. Not this time. Severus didn't even consider moving anywhere. No, he intended to take her right there on the rug, in front of the fireplace, and Hermione, overpowered by his passion as well as her own, allowed him to do so.

The moan lodged in the wizard's throat when the witch's robes slid down, leaving her only in whisper-pink lingerie. Reluctantly, the wizard willed himself to step back and disrobe, his onyx eyes smouldering and burning her skin with fervent heat in them.

Then, a millisecond later, he was all over his witch again. Knickers and bra were gone in one flick of his fingers. The wizard needed skin on skin contact immediately, with no lingerie in the way.

Of course, my darlings, the lioness, the passionate, fiery witch didn't stand and wait. She was all over her wizard as well – kissing, biting, probing and stroking. Their mutual desire was all consuming and unstoppable. There were no borders for their mouths and tongues. Hot, greedy caresses, jerky movements, ragged breathing, throaty cries and groans paved their road to consummation and release.

When the wizard's long fingers found their way to the young witch's welcoming, moist heat and he concluded that the she was indeed quite ready for him, he gently lowered her onto the rug. The witch's creamy thighs fell open, allowing him to see her luscious core.

"Mmm," groaned Severus at the sight and the next instant he was inside of her. Hermione arched her back in ecstasy, and the witch's rapturous mewl, showed approval of her lover's actions better than any words. Hermione's long legs wrapped themselves around his waist, urging him to move. He began his thrusts and strokes, already feeling a tingling of his impending climax and fiercely fighting it.

_I won't be quick. No. No!_

Alas, moans and cries of the eager witch beneath him forced him to go deeper, faster, stronger. "Too tight witch!" Severus moaned between his rapid breaths, trying to hold his orgasm and to wait for her. But, the witch felt just too exquisite, too tight, too hot around him – the wizard had no strength left to hold his release any longer. He pleaded, "Please, witch, come, come for me!" His fingers found and fondled her tender flesh between them desperately.

"Fuck! Come! Now!"

She did. Thank god. Good girl.

_**Act Two – Jealousy**_

Ten minutes later, they were still on the rug and still breathless. The witch was resting on his chest and the fully sated Potions master decided that the time was right to show his caring for her. Thus, lazily smoothing Hermione's springy curls, Severus murmured, "How was your week? How did your presentation go?"

Caught off guard by his question, Hermione rose on her elbow, and her amber eyes gazed into Severus' black ones with amazement and even a hint of doubt. For a few seconds, she studied the wizard's facial expression, looking for any signs of sneering or mocking.

Eventually, she relaxed, put her curly head on Severus' chest again and replied, "It was a disaster."

Now, it was Severus' turn for wondering. "Why, Hermione?" he asked.

The Gryffindor princess shifted, turned her face to him, put her chin sweetly on her arm and continued, "Nobody came, almost nobody. I can't understand it. Why? I worked so hard and hoped for a better reception, for more interest. It is a good initiative. Truly. Harry and I, we were planning and thinking ... Now, he is gone and I am such a loser. It was an epic failure, Severus, horrible." And the curly-haired witch proceeded to tell the story about the room number seven, the only eight attendees, the Minister and Lucius Malfoy in detail.

At first, Severus listened calmly. However, when the story came to Kingsley's comment and Hermione stopped to draw a heavy sigh, he looked into her eyes and noticed that they had a glint in them that Severus didn't particularly like – the witch was on the verge of tears. Our wizard tensed; he did not like crying witches – he had no idea what to do with them. _Shit._

Moreover, his own reaction began to stir inside him and tried to emerge. What the heck was Shackebolt aiming for with his ridiculous statement. Severus' arms unconsciously tightened around the witch's soft curves – our Potions master remembered all too well how the Minister had circled around her at the ball.

"Fool," muttered Severus, recognising a bitter, acid taste of suspicion in his mouth. Hermione looked at him thoughtfully and said, "I don't know, Severus. I hope so. I need to know more about politics. I have the second presentation in two weeks, and I have to be prepared."

"Maybe Lucius really can help me," she whispered.

Sure enough, the moment Lucius' name escaped from Hermione' lips, even in the whisper, Severus' insides began to burn.

"Lucius? What has Lucius to do with your presentation?" he growled.

I know, my dear ones, you can already predict what happened next. The fire-breathing dragon of jealousy that brought our lovers together in the first place was awakened once more. This time, however, its fire could easily ruin the fragile understanding between our lovers. And we, my friends, may only hope for the best.

With a chill in his voice, Severus demanded a detailed explanation of what exactly Lucius had proposed. He also insisted on knowing why he was there and why Hermione agreed to the blond wizard's proposal. In a matter of minutes, the caring and soothing moments between two lovers metamorphosed into a full-blown interrogation.

Severus was barking his questions at Hermione, and she was trying her best to answer calmly. They were not on the rug anymore of course, and both lovers were hectically putting their clothes back on, while still talking. With true Gryffindor stubbornness she explained to him that Lucius had come to her presentation as a politician, and that the blond wizard was the only one who offered assistance, giving her at least some hope of success.

Severus, of course, didn't believe it even for a second. He saw Lucius' reactions to Hermione. He now recalled the compromising position he had found them in at Leaky Cauldron the week before. He was trying, truly trying to be civil, but Hermione's replies only fed his fire further.

"If you remember, Severus, I told you about my plans last Sunday. You weren't interested at that time. Well, at least Lucius is interested enough to help me."

At this point, Severus stopped, his jaws clenched, his eyes focused on the witch. He knew he must not let his anger get the better of him. He knew he did not have the right to be jealous and yet he couldn't stop himself. The raging, tempestuous fury was suffocating him. He couldn't breathe. His need to throw it all at her was as forceful as his need to be inside of her a short while ago.

"So, what is this all about – the spotlight, popularity? Tell me, Hermione, is that why you didn't marry Weasley? Was it too boring for you to dedicate your time to the family, to one man? You looked quite cosy with Lucius in Leaky Cauldron last Friday. Did it start there? Did you agree to his proposal then?" This was a total bluff and Severus recognised it the moment he said it. Nevertheless, it seemed fitting for the situation.

"I never suspected that you were vain, Hermione. Are you really so hungry for fame? Or maybe you just like to have another man on a back burner. Tell me, witch, do you? Do you sleep with him as well? And he helps you with your little project in return, how nice. Am I your weekend lover and he's there for your weekdays?"

Dreadful silence hung between them. He had gone too far again and he knew it. They were both fully clothed by now and standing in front of each other. Hermione's breath dangerously hitched and the fire in her eyes forced Severus to instinctively reach for his wand. The next moment she slapped him. Hard.

"You, Severus Snape, have no right to treat me like that. I will not put up with this. You can shove your stupid jealousy right up your arse. I do not care. I will not put a hold on my career because of you and your moronic behaviour. You know where to find me if you have something to say for yourself."

And before Severus could utter his answering roar, Hermione was gone.

So much for expressing feelings, I would say.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**____****__****________****I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank**** Glorioux, Lima Bean – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty.**

**_To Be a Woman_**

_Chapter Eleven_

**_Reflections of a Pensive Trio or Two Weeks Later_**

Did you ever notice, my darlings, how different people treat their mirrors? Some people see their own reflection as a companion, admiring it and finding it difficult to take their eyes off such perfection. It is typical for these people to spend a significant amount of time in front of their mirrors and even, to talk with their own reflection occasionally. I would call these people _the mirror lovers._

Others use mirrors only for their primary purpose, namely, just to check their reflection, making sure that all is fine and dandy and then go on with their lives. They also spend time with their mirrors, and it is not beneath them to give their reflection an affectionate wink once in a while. The name for this group would be _the mirror users._

And, finally, there is the third type of people who almost never use mirrors. They hate their reflection and look at it only when it is inevitable and utterly necessary. _The mirror haters _they would be called, if, that is, they were ever interested enough to listen.

**_Lucius – Taming the Lioness_**

_With womankind, the less we love them,__  
__the easier they become to charm,__  
__the tighter we can stretch above them__  
__enticing nets to do them harm. (A.S. Pushkin)_

Thursday morning found our blond and oh-so-very handsome wizard in an excellent mood. Lucius Malfoy stood in his private chamber in front of the enormous mirror getting ready for Hermione's presentation. No surprise here, if you ask light-grey eyes were focused on his reflection, while his well-manicured, aristocratic fingers were deftly fixing his silk cravat.

A relaxed smile played on his sensual lips. The wizard was pleased – two weeks had gone by and everything had happened according to his plan. The little witch was moving in the right direction, and he could already recognise the taste of a very near success.

Looking in his mirror, Lucius uttered a soft chuckle – these ten days had been extremely compelling, entertaining and rewarding. For the first time, our Lord Malfoy had been given an opportunity to closely observe the Gryffindor princess.

She was fascinating – witty, sharp and passionate, though in this particular case, about her political career. The power, the life force, radiating from the young witch had enthralled our cool Slytherin snake. Deep in his heart, he felt an irresistible urge to snake himself around her pliant curves and bask in the warmth that she emitted. She was just so lively, so soft, so inviting.

_The young lioness, indeed,_smiled Lucius at his reflection once more. Lord Malfoy was not in a hurry this morning. He let his mind wander off to what had transpired between him and the little witch during these days of working together.

Sure enough, the young Gryffindor had been all prickly and mistrusting at first. Hermione Granger had come to their first meeting with her defensive walls raised up to the sky. Luckily, Lucius had been ready for that as he knew she would not trust him. And honestly, why on earth should she trust him?

The lunch on their first Monday, almost two weeks before, had been a rather cold and stilted affair. Lucius had seen clearly that the witch was expecting him to jump on her at every moment. This hadn't been that surprising after his behaviour on the day of her first presentation. He had – rather shamelessly, by the way – used all the fine skills in seduction the Malfoy men had acquired over the centuries. Oh well, my darlings, we know quite well, that our blond wizard had had a specific goal in mind at that point – he needed her to agree to their collaboration and to accept his assistance. (Thank Merlin, the witch didn't know about the invitations!)

Now, however, once Hermione had agreed to allow him to help, Lucius had to gain the witch's trust. Unsurprisingly, Malfoy, being Malfoy, knew precisely how to deal with the witch who was distrustful and even somewhat frightened of his sexual advances. He had retreated**.**

It had been a perfectly thought out plan – he would simply let the woman's curiosity do what needed to be done. He knew the girl would first calm down, then become intrigued, and before even noticing it, the little witch would be eating from his hands.

For the duration of those two weeks, he had kept up a strictly professional attitude towards her. The crafty wizard had given Hermione just enough time and space to get used to him – to his presence, to his voice, to his scent. Not once during the entire ten days had our Lord Malfoy allowed himself to touch her. Nope, he had religiously kept his distance, although, I have to mention, my friends, it was not easy – she was a tasty little morsel after all.

Sure enough, this tactic had worked like a charm. It was riveting and gratifying for Lucius to watch how, slowly, Hermione's defences had been lowered, how, bit-by-bit, the curly haired witch had begun to trust him more and more.

By Friday, Hermione had been comfortable enough to sit near him without being afraid that he would force his male attention on her. By the second Monday, she had felt confident enough to talk with Lucius about general subjects, apart from her initiative. They worked on her project, they talked, and they laughed.

Lucius actually had taken the time and read the girl's papers quite carefully, and so he was able to show the young and eager politician all the weak points. He had helped her to make them stronger, noticing with satisfaction how a spark of appreciation lit up Hermione's velvety-brown eyes.

To Lucius' amazement, they had been able to meet at the Ministry on Saturday and Sunday, as well. Oh, what a delightful surprise that was. _Probably Severus had managed to ruin the romance with the young witch once again,_assumed our blond wizard. Hence, the little lioness spent a significant amount of time with our Lord Malfoy, as he had indeed been aiming and hoping for, when he tampered with her invitations in the first place.

However, the apotheosis, so to speak, had been reached on Wednesday, when Hermione allowed him to take her out for an early dinner. There, sitting in the restaurant, Lucius finally had let his eyes wander. The witch had an amazingly luminous complexion – her peach-coloured skin literally glowed in a softly lit restaurant. Our Lord Malfoy could already imagine how beautiful she would look with her hair adorned with the vintage ivory hairpieces from his family's vaults. How marvellously his grandmother's emeralds earrings would accentuate her hot chocolate coloured eyes. And the thought of how temptingly delicious his mother's pearls would curl around Hermione's long neck made the blond wizard inwardly groan.

She was exquisite. An intense ardour to touch her wild, springy curls had made his fingers itch. He yearned to feel their luscious weight in his hands. Her gentle profile, little pert nose, soft chin line, full bright rose lips – oh, how the wizard was yearning to kiss and caress the delicate features of her face.

With a strenuous effort and active employment of his self-discipline, Lucius barely had managed not to throw his resolve of_ 'no touching' _overboard. A desire to take her beautiful, young face into both of his hands and cover it with feather-light kisses was burning him alive. He had wanted to trace her plump lips with his thumb, maybe even dipping it in her hot mouth. He had wanted to graze the back of his hand over the curve of her neck, her collarbone, her breast...

If there were any doubts in the blond wizard's mind about the witch, after dinner they all vanished. The witch was irresistible, and he wanted her all to himself, the sooner the better.

This thought returned our Lord Malfoy to reality. The cravat that he had been tying looked flawless. Lucius put on his black cashmere overcoat and gave his reflection a last, careful once over. Satisfied with the view, he clicked his tongue, drawled softly, "To the witch," winked to himself and left his private chamber.

**_Hermione – Trusting the Snake_**

At the same time, Hermione Granger had been bolting through her London flat, hectically trying to get ready for the day. On this particular Thursday morning, our Gryffindor princess' head was filled by a motley array of thoughts. They jostled in her head unhindered, significantly slowing Hermione's progress in finishing an extremely serious task – choosing an outfit.

Along with a vast number of irrelevant and petty musings, three main thoughts occupied Hermione Granger's mind today. Here they are, my darlings, in order of relevance: the presentation of her initiative, Severus Snape, or, more precisely, the lack of him, and finally, Lucius Malfoy and his freaking niceness.  
**  
**First and foremost was today's presentation, of course, which had eventually brought Hermione to her mirror this morning. She truly needed to look presentable for her speech, and so, Hermione paid unusually meticulous attention to her outfit. Looking at her reflection thoughtfully, she weighed her options. Her clothes needed to be perfect – not too fashionable and, at the same time, not overly prissy.

After a thorough analysis of her reflection in the mirror, Hermione finally decided on light-blue robes. They were a perfect combination of classic and modern – finely tailored from light wool, they hugged Hermione's every curve, while the clean lines of the contemporary cut and a spring colour gave them a fresh look. With a determined expression, Hermione took the robes out of her wardrobe and put them on quickly. _Oh, yes! Excellent,_she thought, giving herself a smile of reassurance.

Now, with the issue of the outfit solved, our young witch's mind smoothly moved to the next topic that had been filling her head lately – Severus Snape. At this point, my friends, I have to inform you that the Potions master had quite crudely permitted himself to disappear from Hermione's horizon for a full thirteen days. From the moment our outraged and furious lioness had Apparated home after their fight on that bloody Friday night, she hadn't heard so much as a peep from him.

The anger had carried her through the weekend. However, quite soon – on Monday, to be precise – Hermione had begun to question the correctness of her judgement, her reactions, her behaviour – everything.

Have you ever been there, my dear ones, in that awfully uncomfortable state of mind? At first, you know for sure that you are right, but after a while, those pesky doubts began to emerge and attack you from every corner of your consciousness, and then, eventually, they crawl under your skin, making you annoyingly unsure of everything, especially of yourself and your actions.

Yes, our golden girl had gone exactly into that rabbit hole. Thus, her state of mind, particularly concerning Severus Snape, was not at all peaceful and positive. Our poor witch had played and replayed the whole scene of their confrontation in her head a thousand times, trying to understand where she had gone wrong. Why was he, Severus Snape, still not by her door, begging for forgiveness, or, at least, mumbling some sort of apology? It had been thirteen days, for Merlin's sake.

Hermione drew a heavy sigh and straightened her light-blue robes. She gave her reflection a long gaze and proceeded with taming her curls. She was determined to work them into a tight and elegant bun today.

While she was battling with her unruly curls, her thoughts returned to the one black-haired wizard – she honestly couldn't understand this man. It seemed to our witch that he was purposely driving her away from him. Yet, his eagerness, his desire for her and his passion, were telling her the opposite.

"Darn! What is wrong with this wizard?" whispered our lioness angrily.

There was no use in these musings and Hermione knew that. Severus hadn't come to her, and that was the best indication of how he felt about her. For the millionth time, the young witch told herself to stop thinking about him, to forget and move on with her life.

The brown eyes in her reflection in the mirror became a bit wet, and so Hermione took a deep breath and smiled to herself. _No tears today, not for Severus. The presentation should be my main concern,_she chastised herself.

She felt confident, at least more confident than she had felt immediately after her first presentation. Lucius Malfoy had undoubtedly helped. No matter how unbelievable it sounded at first, he truly had.

The blond wizard had actually spent an outrageous number of long hours working with Hermione, helping her to launch her political career. She had been extremely cautious at first, of course, thinking that he was interested in her only because of some weird, sexual fantasy involving a Muggle-born witch. Thus, Hermione had been prepared to hex him into oblivion the minute he tried something.

But surprisingly, he hadn't. There were no sexual innuendoes from the blond wizard, none at all. Quite frankly, my dear friends, the lack of any lewd actions made Hermione wonder. Why was this kind of interest in her lacking? He most certainly had done it had happened? Did he not find her attractive anymore?

All these questions swirled in our witch's mind, plaguing her with doubt. Curious, Hermione began to pay relatively close attention to Lucius. And to be honest, as the week had progressed, Lucius Malfoy had proved to be quite an intriguing companion. He had taught her many little nuances about politics, and had showed her how to improve her initiative. He had even suggested and persuaded Hermione to ask for a better, bigger room for the presentation.

Together, they had remade and resent the invitations. In other words, two weeks had been spent in intensive work and collaboration. She got used to him, to his soft drawls and murmurs, to his light, cool, eyes, to his well-balanced, calm attitude. More than once during these days, Hermione's eyes, seemingly of their own accord, had gazed over Lucius' impressive physique, taking in his broad chest, platinum locks and even – ahem – his scrumptious looking bum in those tight-fitted cashmere trousers. (Oh, yes, he had removed his outer robes pretty often during their work sessions.)

_Darn, damn you, Severus Snape, and your stupid jealousy!_

Our young witch felt neglected by a certain black-haired wizard. And, to make things worse, Lucius Malfoy happened to be a rather alluring and tempting distraction. Plus, his willingness to assist her stirred a certain degree of appreciation towards him in Hermione's heart.

_Double darn, _she sighed.

When eventually, the last pin was masterfully inserted into a tightly braided bun, our young politician, after a quick last glance at her reflection, snatched her purse from the toilette table and hurriedly walked to the fireplace. A second later, a green flame of the Floo carried her to the Ministry.

**_Severus – Overpowering the Dragon_**

Severus Snape glared into his mirror with annoyance. He had never been particularly partial to his reflection. He did not hate it per se; his self-loathing never went that far. Yet he, nevertheless, limited the number of his encounters with the mirror to the minimum. Shaving, as you can guess, demanded the use of one. Therefore, Severus stood in front of the mirror, forced to look at his , on Thursday, exactly thirteen days after his infamous outburst of jealous rage, Severus Snape finally concluded what he needed. He needed Hermione Granger.

This seemingly simple decision did not come easily to our Potions master. The entire two weeks were spent in tortuously long and excruciating battles with himself, battles, in which there were no winners and no answers in sight. For a prolonged time, Severus was simply furious. When at last the suffocating wave of anger and jealousy had subsided, Severus was finally able to cool down and analyze the situation calmly. Regaining rationality had, however, taken until Wednesday.

After a methodical examination, he understood quite quickly that he had managed to fuck everything up again. Our hapless lover, armed with this conclusion, needed to decide if he wanted to do something about it or not. And that, my darlings, took the rest of the thirteen days.

Even though regret had replaced anger, the fire-breathing dragon of jealousy was still a red-hot ember, burning deeply in Severus' heart. Regret is a terrible thing, my darlings. It could consume a heart, even the most hardened, weathered and rugged one, in no time. Regret and jealousy combined is a simply unbearable mixture. These two strong feelings were tormenting Severus.**  
**  
He couldn't decide what he wanted, his comfortable and habitual misery, or an uncomfortably unknown, unpredictable and perhaps illusory happiness. If – oh, how easily this bloody _'if' _drove our black-haired wizard into an absolute and utter madness – if this freaking happiness was still possible for him. Severus was not sure at all that it was. He had, after all, repeatedly behaved like a complete git. In other words, our wizard was stuck in an impasse.

However, as time passed, our Potions master noticed the disturbing signs. He missed the witch enormously. He couldn't sleep well – the image of Hermione on top of him, making love to him, haunted Severus, dispelling his already rather fragile peace. He couldn't brew his potions. Oh well, he could brew them, but the process no longer brought him calm contentment.

Time made a decision for him – he longed to have his witch in his arms, to feel her writhe in an ecstasy that he and only he had the right to give her. In the end, everything was quite straightforward, really. The wizard wanted the witch, and he was going to go and get her. Therefore, on this Thursday, he stood in his bathroom in front of his unloved mirror, shaving and thinking about the young witch.

The plan was brilliant in its simplicity – Severus would appear at the presentation and try his best to win Hermione back. The fact that he had yet to find a way to deal with his jealousy, possessiveness, and inability to participate in Hermione's life didn't bother him at that moment. There was no time for this now. Other pressing matters were at hand. Severus finished shaving and walked to his wardrobe. After a few minutes, he was fully clothed in his strict, impeccably pressed black robes and ready to leave.

And he had done exactly that, not wasting any time on unnecessary reassuring glances at the mirror. The Potions master didn't need to check his reflection. He knew for certain that everything was prim and proper.


	13. Chapter Twelve

_________I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux, Lima Bean.____ A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty._

_Chapter__Twelve_

**_A Mere Girl No More_**

"Hermione, Hermione, Lucius Malfoy is here!" said a flushed and agitated Lora, as she burst into Hermione's office. Right behind her, our young witch could already recognize the broad silhouette and blond locks of the wizard.

His velvety drawl preceded him. "Hermione, I hope you are ready, dear. It is time to go, my darling. We need to make the last arrangements in the room. I assume that you do want everything to be perfect. Come." And with that, Lord Malfoy walked through the threshold of Hermione's office. His dazzling smile caused Lora to flush a bright, cranberry colour, and before the impending spontaneous combustion could occur, the poor girl shrieked and disappeared.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her employee's antics and looked at Lucius, who simultaneously arched his eyebrows, his eyes full of humorous mischief. The girl was infatuated with the blond wizard, and Hermione and Lucius both knew that. For this reason, her reactions were often the topic of their private jokes and light teasing.

"Lucius, I am so glad that you are here," exclaimed the young witch, standing up from her chair. A genuine smile of delight found its way to her lips and lit up her face. Our golden girl was truly glad to see him.

It just so happened that barely a minute before Lora's violent intrusion, unpleasant and uninvited thoughts had filled Hermione's mind. She was getting ready for the presentation when suddenly the Minister's remark – _"You are just a mere girl for them. No family yet, not even a significant other by your side. Think about it, Hermione,_" – echoed in her ears. The recollection of the patronizing manner in which Kingsley Shacklebolt delivered his comment made our lioness boil inside. "Such a pompous arse," muttered the witch.

Who knows why she remembered those words at that precise moment, at three thirty in the afternoon, half an hour before her presentation?Regardless, the Minister's phrase brought a wave of apprehension into Hermione's heart. _Will the Ministry's officials come today? _This thought began to pulsate wildly in her mind and a hard lump lodged in her throat. Hermione categorically refused to fail for a second time. She felt as if she might never find the courage to try again.

Thus, she thanked Merlin that Lucius appeared when he did. When Lora announced his arrival, she was desperately fighting with the panic that threatened to overwhelm her mind and ruin her excited and enthusiastic mood. Now, drinking in Lucius' calm and confident demeanour, our young politician felt much better. _No, she was not a mere girl! The Minister was wrong! She was Hermione Granger, the intellectual and assertive witch, who knew what she wanted and how to get it._

Lucius had been watching her with interest and she felt his eyes on her. The blond wizard had probably noticed her inner battle. Hermione gave him another reassuring smile, gathered all the necessary papers, and walked around her desk directly toward the wizard, who was waiting for her in the centre of the room.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he murmured. Lucius' light, grey eyes didn't give Hermione a chance to waiver, and she nodded. "Very well, may I escort you, darling? You look irresistible, Hermione. This light blue is gorgeous on you. The Ministry's officials don't stand a chance today. You are ready, you are beautiful and," at this our Lord Malfoy allowed himself to smirk and tilt his head closer to her ear, "you have a wizard by your side. The Minister will be pleased I am sure. Shall we?" he purred, offering her his arm.

The young witch lifted her chin up, placed her slender arm over his and whispered, "Yes." A triumphant smile graced the wizard's lips and together they stepped out of the office. Maybe it was not right, maybe our lioness had lost her touch or had fallen prey to a momentary weakness. We, my friends, can call it whatever we want, but at that moment, Hermione Granger was truly grateful to have Lucius' strong shoulder beside her.

And even though Hermione was entirely focused on the upcoming event and the warm arm of her partner, she did notice Lora's envious scrutiny and the way her administrative assistant bit her lower lip, looking after them when they passed her desk.

**_Do You Ever Wonder How the Boy Feels?_**

_You girls never know Oh no you girls'll never know No you girls never know How the boy feels (Franz Ferdinand)_

Unfortunate events began to haunt Severus from the moment he stepped out of the Ministry's Floo. First, some insane wizard collided with him, managing to step on his foot. Second, the area around the General Information Desk was extremely crowded, and Severus was immediately reminded why he didn't like coming to the Ministry – there were way too many people for his taste.

When our already rather annoyed Potions master at last was able to battle his way through the crowd to the Information Desk, it took almost all his patience to find out where Hermione's presentation was to happen. For the first two minutes, a blond girl with permanently congested airways – or who at least breathed as if such was the case – simply looked at him with empty, glassy eyes, as if she hadn't been able to understand a word he was saying. Severus almost began to doubt his speaking skills, and only his firm knowledge that he indeed had perfect elocution led him to conclude that the girl was perhaps partially deaf.

Thank Merlin that by the end of the third minute, after Severus shouted his question for the fifth time, the girl snapped out of whatever was obscuring her mind and returned to the present. She sniffled, sneezed, wheezed and finally managed to mumble nasally, "Sorry, allergy season." Then, she sneezed again, wiped her nose with the sleeve of her robes and in a solemn voice informed him that Hermione Granger was to present her initiative in room fifty, which was located on the fifth floor. Severus muttered two letters of a 'thank you' and hurriedly left, giving another desperate wizard with a question, an opportunity to talk to the wheezing girl.

Of course, the elevators were overfilled with people as usual. Severus braced himself for an unpleasant ride and stepped inside the lift. He disliked when people invaded his personal space, but alas, there was no such thing as personal space in an elevator. Indeed, there was no such thing as space in that damn elevator. However, as if to be sandwiched between witches and wizards weren't unfortunate enough, one young and obviously not-so-bright witch decided that the time was right to refresh her perfume.

She had done so, right there in the lift full of people tightly packed together. You can imagine, what terrible suffering that mindless move caused our Potions master's enormous nose. Suffice it to say that by the time he walked out of there, his eyes were as glassy as those of the girl at the Information Desk. Allergy season, indeed!

After arriving at the fifth floor, Severus began his journey towards room number fifty. While our black-haired wizard was walking through the corridor with stern determination, he had noticed that he was not the only one who was moving to that room. Different Ministry officials hurried beside him, in front of him, and, as he suspected, behind him as well.

Remembering Hermione's recollection about her first presentation, our Potions master did not expect to see so many people going in the same direction as he. But, of course, with apprehension, reminded Severus himself that now, once Lucius was involved, it just ought to be something grand and, thus, overly crowded.

"Shit," cursed Severus under his breath. His goal had just become more difficult to achieve.

At last, after a brisk walk through the unpleasantly highly populated corridor, our wizard stood in front of the room with an elegantly glittering advertisement on the door: Miss Hermione Granger, Magical Creatures Rights Law Initiative – Second Presentation, 4 pm.

For a millisecond, Severus paused, drew a calming breath, and then entered the room. It was already full of people. It was not a shock for Severus now and he had a few minutes to analyse and prepare himself during the walk. However, it still was not what he had planned for when he left his villa that day. In his eager rush to get to the Ministry – or, it would perhaps be more accurate to say, to get to his witch – Severus hadn't had a chance to figure out the detailed plan, or words, or manoeuvres.

Now, standing at the doorway to the room filled with people, our Potions master felt totally unprepared – he didn't know where to start. The one thing, however, he did know for sure – he was not ready to apologise in front of the whole Ministry. Thankfully, after a quick survey, Severus identified that Hermione wasn't there yet, and he thus had time.

Our Potions master stepped over the threshold and with his customary discretion moved into the shadows. He needed to think, and he decided to do so while waiting for Hermione's arrival. Alas, unsurprisingly, Severus wasn't lucky enough to have the time for musing, because the moment he settled on a wooden chair, a wave of excitement rolled over the witches and wizards. Severus rose again in order to afford himself a better view and froze. There she was. His witch was entering the room hand in hand with Lucius Malfoy.

All plans for apologizing, and whatever else was on our Potions master's mind, were forgotten in mere seconds. He was burning and hurting all over. Jealousy and regret were very much alive and tearing his heart apart again. Oh, what a fool he was! He stood there dumbstruck, watching the fruits of his own labour. He, driven by his jealousy, had himself provided Lucius with this opportunity. Fuck!

Severus' first impulse was to snatch Hermione from the thief and claim her as his own. However, after a brief but careful observation, he noticed something that made his heart ache even more – Hermione looked so comfortable, confident and so content near Lucius. She looked almost happy.

At that moment, a horrible doubt, or was it an epiphany, struck if he would never be able to make her look that confident, that content? Severus Snape was not a fool, and he was not blind – far from it. Moreover, despite common beliefs, he most certainly was not a heartless bastard. He knew quite well what mattered for Hermione Granger.

That day, that Friday, when he had been shouting at her about her love fora spotlight – it wasn't true, of course. But his accusations weren't wholly without merit. Hermione _was_ a career-oriented witch, after all. She stubbornly believed that it was up to her to try to change the world, to make it a better place. The question was, would our Potions master be able or willing to help and to comply with the demands that these kinds of ambitions would certainly make? Lucius was rather obviously willing, noticeably able and even, annoyingly, enjoying it.

That terrible thought caused Severus to feel cold and empty. Stuck in indecision, the wizard gazed at Hermione intently, thoughtfully. A second later me made a choice. Yes! He still wanted this witch, his witch. Political career, the Ministry and everything else be dammed. He would deal with those later.

The presentation went on, and Severus listened to Hermione's soft voice. The initiative was an excellent one actually, not that he had doubted it even for a second. He knew the witch too well. She had always been an excellent scholar. There were, however, two rather disturbing and mind boggling things that he had noticed during the speech. First, his former friend was by the witch's side the whole time. Secondly, even though the blond wizard did not once touch the young Gryffindor inappropriately, Severus saw, or perhaps only thought that he saw, a sort of bonding between them. They moved in unison; they talked in unison; they even laughed in unison.

How could that be? In two short weeks, how had Lucius accomplished it? That question stirred Severus' heart, feeding his doubts and insecurities further. Displeased with himself, the wizard wondered how he could have allowed another man to do that to his witch?

As you can probably guess, Severus just kept torturing his poor heart until the presentation ended. When at last it came to its end, and many wizards and witches gathered around Hermione in order to ask their questions and give their generally positive comments, Severus rose from his chair. He was still determined to come forward and to talk to Hermione. He was going to swallow his pride, forget about his dignity, and let the witch decide whom she wanted. Fate, however, had decided once again to play a cruel trick on the Potions master.

Severus had only made his first step towards the podium where Hermione had been standing with witches and wizards chatting around her, when he heard Lucius voice announcing, "Dear ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the Minister, our beloved Mister Shacklebolt, has just given me permission to organize the final presentation of this undoubtedly extremely important initiative at Malfoy Manor. It will take place in one week on Thursday, and will be followed by the official voting that will take place on Friday morning at the Ministry. Drinks and refreshments will be served by paid, free elves."

The announcement was met with cheers and loud ovations, and Hermione's happy exclamation, "Lucius!" drew Severus' attention. Seething, Severus watched how the excited witch literally jumped into Malfoy's arms, giving him a kiss on the cheek while her amber eyes, full of warmth and appreciation, were locked on Malfoy. Lucius' arms possessively circled themselves around her slim waist, and the blond wizard's lips captured Hermione's for a short, but passion-filled answering kiss.

Severus could swear that the instant before the kiss, the grey eyes of his former friend gazed at him. A triumphant fire in them was evident even from afar. This last observation thoroughly drove our Potions master into darkness. He had seen enough, he would not make any more of a fool of himself. He would not be humiliated in front of the whole Ministry. Severus Snape dashed all his plans, turned on his heel, left the room number fifty at full speed and rushed back to his misery.

**_Do You Ever Wonder How the Girl Feels?_**

_No you boys never care Oh no you boys'll never care No you boys never care How the girl feels (Franz Ferdinand)_

Hermione was euphoric. The second presentation was a success, and a huge success, at that. First of all, the room was perfect – spacious, clean and bright, and even decorated with flowers – courtesy of Lucius Malfoy, of course. Plus, everybody was there, all the Ministry officials, all the heads of the departments – everybody. And, most importantly, they all listened with interest, and after Hermione finished her speech, asked questions and made comments. A few odd ones came to her to assure her that they had never seen her first invitation. This made Hermione frown in confusion, but she soon forgot about them with Lucius redirecting her attention to the many other wizards and witches with questions and comments.

In other words – everything went flawlessly, and Hermione felt almost happy. The one dark cloud, of course, was the thought about Severus' absence. Maybe not in Lucius' place – no, she could hardly imagine Severus in such a spotlight – but at least in the room, listening to her, being proud of her, applauding her, wanting her. Alas, she hadn't seen him there. Oh well, good thing she accepted Lucius' help. She did notice with satisfaction a slightly peeved expression on Kingsley Shacklebolt's face when he first saw Lucius Malfoy by her side. _Here, _she thought, _you asked for it._

Of course, Lucius' announcement about the third presentation to be held at the Manor caught her by surprise. He didn't tell her about it, he didn't ask for her consent, and, if he did, Hermione would have surely declined. However, when he announced it right there in front of everybody, and the crowd met it with such enthusiasm, she could only squeal in delight and gratefully accept. She knew that Lucius had forced this on her and manipulated her into something she had not necessarily wanted. And yet, the extent of today's success made her feel thankful for Lucius' support, help and supportive companionship by her side. And so she agreed. She also gave him a friendly kiss of appreciation.

She didn't expect that Lucius would answer the graze of her fleeting lips with a scorching invasion of her mouth with his own. This caught her off guard, but she hadn't been able to mull over it, because the moment Hermione came out of the unexpected kiss with Lucius, she felt rather than saw that someone familiarly tall and distinctly clothed all in black had left the room in one impetuous movement. _Severus! He came! _There was a moment's hesitation while she contemplated whether she should run after him or not. She was still quite angry with him, after all. Yet, the knowledge that Severus had come overruled everything else. The young witch politely but hurriedly excused herself, asked Lucius to wait for her and ran after her lover.

"Severus, wait!" she shouted. It was hard to outrun the Potions master. Thank God that at some point he heard her calls. He stopped and turned to face her, waiting and watching her solemnly.

When Hermione finally reached him, her breath was laboured. She couldn't talk, and they stood in the corridor in silence. Their eyes, however, didn't wait, and when they locked on each other instantly, Hermione was ready to forget and disregard everything. There was so much passionate fire, desire and agony in Severus' black eyes. Hypnotized and unable to contain herself, the witch, stepped closer to him. The next moment his lips were on her, kissing, claiming, consuming, and she was answering him, opening for him, inviting him.

He was everywhere, and he was everything. She had missed him so bloody much. She was breathing his passion, sinking in his desire, giving in again, forgiving broke for air, and pressed her little palms into his chest, and Severus stopped his assault. They both were breathless, forehead pressed to forehead. "Come with me," he rasped into her ear, his fingers already searching for the buttons on her robes.

"Severus, wait. We need to talk about this, about us," whispered Hermione. "Besides, I need to finish here in the Ministry. Will you wait for me?"

Severus released her and stepped back, his eyes expressionless. He was silent for a few more minutes. "No," he said and slowly shook his head. Hermione's heart froze and she blinked nervously. "Finish here and come to me afterward. I will wait for you at home. Don't be long, witch," he said hoarsely and walked away without as much as a back glance.

Hermione stood there for a few minutes, simply looking after him. Then, she turned and walked away as well. To her surprise, when she entered the now quiet room number fifty five minutes later, she was greeted with the familiar velvety drawl. "Hermione, how nice of you to come back."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_________I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my betas - Glorioux and Lima Bean____. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty._

**_Chapter Thirteen_**

_I love you - love you! _

_I know, I know - it ill becomes me,_

_I am too old, time to be wise..._

_But how? This love - it overcomes me,_

_A sickness this in passion's guise. *_

**_All Is Fair_**

_"Severus, wait. We need to talk about this, about us," whispered Hermione._

Do you remember our heroine saying that right after their scorching kiss in the Ministry's corridor? Oh well, unfortunately, I cannot tell you anything reassuring, my darlings – our lovers had not talked, even though they truly should have. Severus' sense of self- preservation, Hermione's work, jealousy and lousy planning had all contributed to the fact that the most needed and important conversation between them had not happened.

On that Thursday, Hermione had come to Severus about two hours later. Those two hours had been insanely agonizing for Severus. After he had left her in the Ministry's corridor, he was not sure if the witch would come or not. For the first time in their short history, she didn't go with him when he asked. The fact that the witch chose her work over him was unpleasant to say the least. And the knowledge that she went back to Lucius was simply slowly killing him.

You can imagine how torturously slowly those one hundred twenty minutes crept for Severus. His jealousy had entirely unnerved him and banished the last shreds of his self-control. By the end of his wait, our Potions master finally admitted to himself that he had indeed recognized with grim certainty the presence of the symptoms. It was there. Severus was positively sure that the greatest torment for his poor soul was at his door again. For the second time in his life, our wizard had fallen victim to this cruel burden. He had suffered from it once before, and it had nearly killed him then. There was no doubt in his mind that this wicked feeling would tear his poor, tortured soul to smithereens and then would make a fool out of him once again.

Alas, he knew precisely that it was too late for escape. The wizard was ultimately done for. Severus was in love.

**_In Love_**

Severus ambushed the witch the moment she stepped out of the fireplace. At first Hermione was determined to talk and kept trying to stop Severus' advances. Our wizard, however, was unwavering. His fingers caught her chin in the strong grip and his lips captured hers possessively. He was desperate, desperate to not let her talk, desperate to not let her go, desperate to have her, desperate to find a way to keep her forever. His lips were moving insistently, dominating her, forcing her to submit to him, trying to convey his message, his doubts, his need, his love. And only when he felt that she succumbed to his will, when the sounds of her whimpers and moans filled the air of his living room, only then did he gather her in his arms and take her to his bedroom.

You may guess, my darlings, that the night was spent in frantic lovemaking. Both missed the heat and the fire of their bodies terribly. During their two weeks apart, they managed to forget how well they fit together, and so they spent the night rediscovering their bliss. They found the intensity of their mutual pleasure, and more than once, they drowned in the sweet agony of their unity, their oneness. Over and over Severus made love to his witch, devouring every inch of her, forcing her to writhe and moan under his intense ministrations. Again and again his lioness was giving herself to him fully, completely disregarding the world beyond her lover's bedroom.

Early morning on Friday was hectic. Hermione was in a hurry, needing to rush to her flat first and to the Ministry. Watching her agitated darting through his bedroom, Severus felt the blunt ache of loneliness cloud his heart again. Cold fingers of inexplicable anxiety clasped his throat, squeezing it, making it hard to breathe. But of course, our ever-inscrutable wizard didn't yield and didn't show anything. He buried these feelings somewhere deep within him and didn't say a word to Hermione. He let her disappear in the Floo, though not before he kissed her good-bye. Or was it she who kissed him good-bye?

The moment she left, all kinds of troublesome suspicions filled his mind. One particularly unpleasant question had made him nauseous. What if Hermione was rushing not to work, but to Lucius? Severus unsuccessfully tried to suppress that thought. He supposedly trusted the witch, and yet the dragon of jealousy was there, wide-awake. And truly, how could he not be jealous when the simple recollection of Lucius' triumphant gaze and the kiss he placed on Hermione's lips made Severus' blood boil?

Later, on Friday afternoon, Severus received an owl from Hermione with a quick note that she had too much work and wouldn't be able to make it to his villa by dinnertime. The image of his witch working with Lucius in close proximity began to haunt him with renewed strength. Severus could see vividly how his former friend would cocoon Hermione in his artfully calculated, but deceitful flattery, coaxing her to give in, to trust him, to like him, want him and maybe even love him. This unfortunate combination of love and envy truly made his imagination go wild.

At this point,_ talking it over _would be the best route for the Potions master. Alas, with the fact that Hermione maniacally had continued working through the weekend, and thus, was coming to Severus only at night, there were not actually many opportunities for him to discuss their relationship with the witch. Moreover, unsurprisingly, her departure for work on Saturday and Sunday, and the knowledge that she was engaged in the preparations for her grand summit at Malfoy Manor, infuriated our Potions master immensely. Luckily, this time he managed to remain silent about it, keeping his temper and resentment in check. Hermione did come back to him every night, after all. Hence, Severus once again chose the road that he knew best, the road paved with lovemaking instead of conversation. But was it still just sex and not lovemaking as long as the four-letter word had not been spoken? That particular moment was not clear to him. Our wizard knew precisely how he felt about Hermione. The evident problem was that he wasn't quite ready to hear how she felt about him.

Then Monday had come, and with all the agitation of the preparations, Hermione became even more engrossed in her work. She did stay the night on Monday, but then on Tuesday she came for just a few short hours to eat dinner with Severus, after which she frantically ran home, saying that she would need to work all night and would be at the Ministry early in the morning.

Therefore, on Wednesday morning, five days after Hermione's second presentation and a day before her next one, our lovers had not progressed in their relationship. Mainly, they hadn't had a talk. A positive aspect however, was that they had managed to avoid fighting for those five days. Actually, it was quite an achievement, considering their hot tempers and history.

**_And War_**

It was already Wednesday afternoon, when loud noises from another side of the villa stole Severus' attention. He was at his usual occupation at this hour – potion-making. Due to the distant location of his laboratory, he couldn't immediately identify the source and the origin of the noise. Being caught in the middle of the brewing process, the Potions master didn't pay much attention to the sounds, deciding that perhaps his pesky house-elf was up to something again.

When, however, after a short while, the sounds transformed into an outright racket, Severus swore under his breath, removed the cauldron filled with simmering potion from the heat and, with an exasperated swirl of his stark black work robes, ventured to investigate the cause of the noises.

Flustered by a sudden interruption, our Potions master at last arrived at the epicentre of the commotion, and the sight that met his eyes made him stop dead in his tracks. It was comical and somewhat disturbing at the same time. There, in the middle of his living room stood extremely irritated, slightly flushed Lucius Malfoy. Severus seriously doubted that he had ever seen Lucius flushed before. Right in front of him with his small arms placed boldly on his hips, stood Casimir. The two were nose to nose. The haughty blonde was hovering and huffing with fury, and the little elf in his most authoritative pose was evidently enjoying the confrontation. Both failed to notice Severus, so he stopped in the shadows of the corridor and watched the pandemonium unfold.

"I am telling you for the last time, you blasted, useless creature, go and get your Master. Or, let me in, and I will find him myself," hissed the blond-haired wizard menacingly.

"Me tells you many times, mister Lucius, Master is very busy. Mister Lucius needs to come later. No, Mister Lucius needs to send an owl to Master," firmly replied the elf, not moving even an inch from his strategically situated position directly in front of the door.

Lucius, who apparently had lost his patience altogether by this point, drew his wand in one quick, fluid motion and pointed it towards Casimir's nose. And that was Severus' cue for immediate intervention. Lucius Malfoy was a powerful, dark wizard, who certainly had the capacity for volatile anger, and even though, Casimir did annoy the hell out of Severus quite often, our Potions master was used to his elf, and was not at all partial to the idea of losing him. So, he urgently stepped into the room, making his presence known to both bickering parties.

"Is there any specific reason why you are harassing my elf, Lucius?" uttered the wizard snidely, arching his eyebrow quizzically at his former friend.

"Your servant, Severus, is not trained properly. He refused to announce me, and refused to let me in to look for you," drawled Lucius. Lord Malfoy had visibly relaxed the moment Severus made his appearance. His grey eyes focused on his former friend and the mocking smile touched his lips, as he continued, "Or, was he carrying out your orders? What is this, Severus? Are you cowardly hiding behind the elf's back now?"

Ignoring Lucius' implications for now, Severus turned to his house-elf, "Explain yourself, Casimir. I do not recall authorizing you to make decisions about my visitors." At this, Casimir, with a conspiratorial smile on his wrinkled face, moved closer to him, and slowly, emphasising each word, as if he was trying to convey a relevant message to his rather slow-witted Master, said, "But... Master..._ is_...busy. Mister Lucius sends owl to Master and Master reads and answers afterwards."

For a few long moments, Severus silently looked at his enthusiastically nodding elf, pinching the bridge of his enormous nose in bewilderment. Soon, however, the surprised facial expression faded, and the black-haired wizard scowled darkly at his servant. Noticing the signs of his Master's irritability, Casimir stopped nodding and literally shrunk under Severus' displeased frown, perhaps finally realizing that he had gone just a hair too far. Still, the creature made the last attempt to turn the situation around, mumbling in a scarcely audible whisper, "But Mister Lucius wants Master's Missy. Mister Lucius is bad for Master, please Master, Mister Lucius must go. Master should listen to Casimir."

"Oh, this is precious. It is delightful to see that your elf is like a mother to you, Severus," commented Lucius sarcastically smirking. This was the last straw. Severus had quite enough of this nonsensical event. Thus, he barked to his elf, "Casimir, go now. I will deal with you later." The little creature drew a loud, defeated sigh, and, melancholically dragging his feet, slowly walked out of the room. When Casimir's slumped shoulders had disappeared in the dimness of the corridor, Severus turned to his former friend and asked in a clipped tone, "Why are you here, Lucius?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Severus, such a hostile tone towards an old friend. What has happened to us? Mm? We were friends and all it took one young Gryffindor with a pert bottom to come between us, and the whole friendship perished in a minute," languidly drawled the blond wizard, his smirk widening on his face. As Hermione's heart-shaped, and indeed, nicely pert bum, was especially dear to Severus' heart, the mere mentioning of her asset was enough for him to go berserk. A low rumble was born deep in the wizard's chest, and Severus growled, "Stop wasting my time and testing my patience, Lucius. What do you want?"

"I brought you an invitation to Hermione's final presentation, Severus. I assumed that you would like to be present at this soiree, taking into the consideration that you two are involved..." At this Lucius trailed off, fishing the invitation out of the chest pocket of his waist coat and offering it to Severus. With the sour, acid taste of impending dread, our Potions master reluctantly accepted the colourful parchment from the blond wizard.

Just one glance at it made Severus' heart tighten painfully in his chest. There, on the cover, was a picture of smiling Hermione, with Lucius standing right beside her and their hands intertwined. Severus couldn't take his eyes off the witch's face. She looked beautiful, content, happy. All the doubts and concerns that had been eating him since last Thursday returned, tearing his poor soul apart. In his state of deep conflict with himself, he didn't notice that Lucius had come closer to him. The blond wizard looked over Severus' shoulder at the picture and commented, "Beautiful isn't she?" Then, not waiting for an answer, Lucius asked, "Do you love her, Severus?"

This question tore Severus from his trance, and he glared at his former friend, "You are not in a position to ask any questions, Lucius. If you are through, I would rather bid you good-bye than continue this dialogue," replied the black-haired wizard. Lucius, however, appeared perfectly unperturbed by Severus' dismissal, and continued calmly, looking straight into angry black eyes of the Potions master, "I know you do, Severus. We have known each other for too long, old friend. You are rather obvious."

Then, using the next second's silence, Lord Malfoy redirected his attention to Hermione's picture again. "Look at her, Severus. Look at how happy, how content she appears. Can you really give her what she needs? Think about it. You love her. Do the right thing, my friend. Allow her to achieve what she wants. Do you truly want to bury her here with you? I can make her happy and you know that. She will blossom with me. She will have everything she wants – political career, marriage, children, social standing. Can you provide all these? Don't think so." Lucius tried to say something else, but the low, hoarse growl of his former friend interrupted his monologue.

"Get out! Get out, Lucius! Get out, while you are still in one piece. You are not worthy of Hermione. You are a lying, deceiving, manipulative arse. What did you do to gain her trust? Did you falsify something? How did you manipulate her into this? Tell me," uttered Severus, slowly pushing each word through his clenched teeth. It was obvious that he was exercising all his self-control in order not to physically strangle Lucius.

"I did what I did, Severus. There is no need for you to know exactly what. The point is that I am a better match for the witch. I know that, and you know that." His arrogant smirk changed to a smug, triumphal smile. Severus' demeanour, on the other hand, became totally unreadable, and the clenching and unclenching of his jaw was the only clue to his feelings. With measured steps, Severus walked to the fireplace and said, pointing towards the Floo, "Leave now, Lucius."

Lucius hid his smile under a mockingly hurt facial expression and replied, "Very well, I can clearly see that I am not welcome here. I will not take any more of your time. Have a good day, Severus. Hope you will think about my words and will chose as a man who wants only the best for his beloved. Don't cut her wings, Severus. Let her fly. Do not burden her with your love." And with that, Lord Malfoy stepped into the Floo and disappeared.

Sudden apathy engulfed the Potions master. He sunk into his armchair and sat there in silence for a long, long, long time.

* _A. S. Pushkin_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

_**To Be a Woman**_

_Chapter Fourteen_

Never know how much I love you  
Never know how much I care  
When you put your arms around me  
I get a fever that's so hard to bear (_Fever/Elvis Presley)_

_**Everybody's Got the Fever...**_

_**Aflame**_

A few moments after bidding his good-bye to Severus, our Lord Malfoy stepped out of the Manor's Floo, his smug smile firmly in place. His eyes, however, had already lost their triumphant gleam. They were deceiving him, making his carefully chosen mask incomplete and useless. The icy grey lucidity of his eyes did nothing to conceal the flaming, boisterous fury that raged behind them. As if in a hurry, he hastened swiftly through the Manor, as his robes swirled in an expensive billow of cashmere and silk around him. Our blond wizard reached his library in a matter of minutes. Once there, he finally let the smile**, **now a pained grimace, to slip.

Tightly closing the library's door, Lucius leaned on it and closed his eyes. His rapid breathing and his flared nostrils, albeit slight, betrayed the true level of his inner-turmoil. You can imagine, my friends, that this particular wizard's upbringing and lifelong training didn't allow him to drop his mask earlier. Only there, in the privacy of his library, could Lucius Malfoy at last relax and allow his true feelings to surface.

Unsurprisingly, the intensity of the exchange between two former friends had taken an obvious toll on Lucius as well. It was never easy to manipulate a fellow Slytherin. To manage it with Severus Snape, on the other hand, was an arduous task, which demanded the mastery of exceptional skills. Yes, my dear darlings, Lucius was more than adept for the task. Yet, all the same, he felt downright drained afterwards.

The delicacy of the task was not the only cause of Lucius' fatigue. The revelation that Severus indeed was in love with the witch was even more troubling and worrisome for the blond wizard. It had awakened a wide spectre of different emotions in Lucius. These two wizards had known each other for quite a long time. To see his friend, even if he had been a former friend, in such a vulnerable state had surprised him. Malfoy hadn't expected that. Although it had made his mission somewhat easier, the undiluted agony in Severus' eyes had forced Lucius to recoil instinctively.

Please, my friends, let's not delude ourselves with a notion that Lucius was concerned for Severus' well being, because he most certainly was not. There was no place for repentance in the blond wizard's heart, nope, not at all. He needed the witch for himself and he would stop at nothing in order to have her, at absolutely nothing. The prospect of hurting the heart of his friend in the process did not concern our blond snake**.**

However, the fact that the fire and anguish in Severus' eyes did closely resemble Lucius' own feelings towards Hermione was unpleasant. It was extremely disconcerting actually. Lucius Malfoy was not supposed to fall into the same pit as his hapless friend. He had planned to have a comfortable, lukewarm marriage. Thus, developing of some idiotic, dim-witted, and yes, highly passionate feelings toward the little lioness in question was unfortunate. Apparently, fate had decided to play with him a little.

Sure enough, Lucius had been aware of the changes in his feelings towards the girl for quite some time. He had noticed the first disturbing signs immediately after their kiss at the Ministry. The second he had pressed Hermione tightly to him and invaded her sweet tasting mouth in front of the whole Ministry, he had known for certain that he would not be able to give up this witch. Nothing extraordinary had happened. There hadn't been any fireworks in his mind or stars in front of his eyes. He hadn't felt any electric discharges when they touched each other. No. She simply had fit so damn perfectly in his arms. Her luscious curves had felt so exquisitely delicate, enticing and alluring. Her petite, slender body had moulded into his so naturally, making it so impeccably, irrevocably right. There, at that exact moment, the vigorous ardour to possess had been born in the deepest part of Lucius' soul. The flames had risen inside of his heart, obliterating his usual coolness.

The second the kiss ended and Hermione fled after Severus, he spiralled down into the flames of irrepressible jealousy, passionate desire and anger at his inability to obtain the witch immediately. By the time Hermione returned to the room, after her Potions master's chase, our blond wizard was nearly blinded by fury. He knew that Severus had snogged the hell out of the witch – he saw her swollen lips and rosy cheeks, and it took all his self-control not to go after the damn wizard.

Surely, all those feelings were unjustified and caught our blond Slytherin unprepared, annoying Lucius immensely. They had been so ill timed and distressing. Moreover, these molten flames had been threatening to surface any minute and force Lucius to show his true feelings in public, which surely would destroy his well-engineered plan. Unthinkable! He had desired the witch before, but the strength of his desire now was all encompassing and totally uncontrollable.

The week was horrible and endearing at the same time. The wizard and the witch had spent an enormous amount of time together organizing, preparing and talking. He enjoyed their interactions and loved to be close to her. Taking into consideration that Hermione never mentioned the kiss they had shared, Lucius had returned to his à la professional conduct – no inappropriate touching, let alone kissing. Only, it had become much more difficult to keep that façade now. He was aflame most of the time. When Hermione was in the vicinity, he wanted nothing more than to drag her to his private chamber and to ravish her there until the world would end. You can imagine, my friends, that the fact that they spent most of their time working in the Manor didn't help to get rid of this particular dream scenario. When she wasn't with him, on the other hand, the flames of his jealousy were slowly turning his heart to ash, forcing him to ponder how to eliminate that infuriating black-haired wizard, to whom the little witch was so powerfully and inexplicably drawn. Luckily, Lucius Malfoy had enough strength to keep himself aloof. Still, this week was quite trying for him.

Today, he recognised Severus' condition instantly as he was almost there himself, maybe not to such extent, but still, he had sunk deeply enough.

After a few more minutes of a complete stillness in the quiet sanctuary against the closed door of his library, the blonde wizard opened his eyes, drew a deep sigh and growled, "Agh, shit." Then, he schooled his facial expression to appear calmand walked to his bar where he poured himself a glass of Firewhisky. With a drink in his hand, Lucius sat at his desk desperately needing to cool down and think. It would not do him any good to let his feelings and emotions get the better of him, the wizard knew that much. He still had the game to win, and the witch to acquire, and for that, he needed his cold and manipulative mind to be clear. He could not allow himself to be turned into a crumbling fool.

Lucius sipped the amber liquid slowly, savouring the taste and trying to relax. After twenty minutes of analyzing the situation, our Lord Malfoy decided that the act with Severus went quite well and moved him even closer to his goal. A thought about his impending success made him chuckle. Well, my darlings, he was Lucius Malfoy, after all, the one and only, the whitest peacock of all, one of a kind. He could not possibly question himself forever.

Before long, Lucius' thoughts strayed to Hermione's wild, chestnut curls, to her warm milk chocolate eyes and her plump, rosy lips. The recollection of her sweet taste made him groan. _Shit, the witch was just too delicious for her own good_, he thought, licking his lips.

Right at that moment, the door to the library had opened, and an old elf named Wrinkly announced in a squeaky whisper, "A letter from Miss Hermione, Master." Lucius turned towards his servant and gestured him to come closer. Wrinkly moved soundlessly towards the desk, and Lucius took the letter from the sterling silver tray the elf had been holding. A second later, after a slight nod to his master, the elf vanished into thin air.

Lucius carefully opened the letter and read it, still sipping his drink languidly. A minute into reading, he loudly slammed the glass on the table. His grip around the century old Austrian crystal visibly tensed, his knuckles turned white, his breathing become rapid, and his nostrils began to flare again. A moment later, the glass gave in and shattered into numerous little crystals in the wizard's hand. Immediately the desk's content was saturated with amber liquid mingled with sparkling pieces of crystal and crimson blood. Lucius cursed under his breath, threw the letter on the floor and drew his wand, cleaning the mess and healing the cut on his hand.

When the mess was taken care of, our Lord Malfoy bent down and picked up the letter again. He read it one more time,

_Dear Lucius,_

_I am sorry to say, but I feel utterly drained and dead tired. I need a break badly. It looks like I will not be able to make it to the Manor today. I will meet you here first thing in the morning._

_Hermione_

The knowledge that the witch probably cancelled in order to make time for her lover inflamed our wizard even more. The overwhelming desire to destroy something or someone began to burn Lucius' insides and brought the taste of ash to his mouth. However, he didn't move from his chair. Instead, he just sat there, his face unreadable. Then, when his breathing calmed down a notch, he slowly stood up and in three measured steps came by his bar again. When a new drink was prepared, Lucius returned to his desk, took a small sip and sighed, not permitting his temper to get out for the second time. He was a _Malfoy_ for Merlin's sake, and he knew his role meant waiting for his intricate plan to work. Who knows, maybe by the end of tomorrow everything would change and he, Lucius Malfoy, would have his chosen witch all for himself.

_**On Fire**_

Meanwhile, at the villa, Severus Snape was still frozen in his armchair with the damned invitation still in his hand. When he finally snapped out of his lethargy, his gaze fell upon the picture of Hermione and Lucius again, and a low growl lodged in his throat. Severus sprung up. His eyes began to smoulder with fierce fire, and in one violent flick of the Potions master's wrist, the offensive piece of parchment burst into flames. The fiery orange flecks played in his black eyes, reflecting the flame. In mere seconds, there was nothing left of the invitation except the weightless flakes of ash swirling languidly around the stormy wizard.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, the Floo lighted up, and Severus tensed, promptly pointing his wand towards the fireplace. He didn't expect anyone so his immediate suspicion was that Lucius decided to return and torment him some more. However, when the green flames of the Floo dispelled, and Severus recognised Hermione's tousled curls, the only thing he could muster was to mutter hoarsely in disbelief, "Hermione?"

"Severus," she whispered urgently. The witch quickly covered the distance between them. The tapping of her heels echoed throughout the living room, and Severus found the sound surprisingly soothing. _How peculiar_, the thought bolted through his mind. However, our Potions master hadn't gotten a chance to dwell on that thought, because a millisecond later he had his arms full of one Hermione Granger. Her lips were on him, begging, requesting, insisting and, at last, simply demanding his undivided attention. Severus was forced to oblige, of course. Undoubtedly, he couldn't actually leave the damsel in distress, my dearies, could he?

When the first few desperate kisses had come to their end, and our lovers just stood there in a tight embrace, catching their lost breath, Severus asked, "Is something the matter, witch?" His lips were gently tracing her jaw line. Hermione drew a shuddered breath and answered, "No," she sighed again, "yes, I don't know." Severus loosened his hold on her and looked into the witch's eyes, arching his eyebrow quizzically. "How eloquent," his gaze darkened, becoming somewhat wary and guarded, "care to elaborate, girl?"

"It's nothing, Severus, truly. I probably just overworked and stressed." Hermione began to babble, and our wizard knitted his brows together in confusion. "I wanted to see you. I needed to get out of there, Severus. I needed a break; I guess. Just to clear my head before tomorrow. See, it's nothing, just nerves," saying that, the young witch pressed her slender body flush against him. Her arms circled themselves around his neck as she purred, "Take me to bed, Severus Snape," and she kissed him again. Both groaned in anticipation, and our Potions master gathered his demanding witch in his arms and took her to bed, just as she asked.

When after a feverishly frenzied disrobing, they finally were nude and skin on skin, Severus found the little lioness so utterly and eagerly wet and ready, that there was hardly any foreplay. Apparently, the witch's urgency was contagious. Thus, quite understandably, less than five minutes after our lovers stumbled into the bedroom, he was inside her and moving. Soon enough, her muscles started to flutter around him, announcing an impending beginning of an end. Hermione's unbidden moans and cries forced him to speed up, and before long, they both were bawling their release**. **Our satisfied witch mewled something incoherent, curled comfortably by his side, making sure to finely intertwine all her four limbs with his, almost suffocating him with her untamed hair in the process. By the time Severus' breathing returned to normal, she was already fast asleep. The wizard stayed awake for some time, the state of his mind and soul being far from content. Shortly, however, the exhaustion took over, and he too succumbed to the slumber.

It was dark when Severus opened his eyes. Hermione stood near the bed. She was already half-dressed and buttoned her blouse. The wizard frowned, not wanting her to leave yet. Looking intently at the witch, Severus extended his hand to her and whispered, "Come." She smiled and climbed onto the bed. Slowly, she was inching the breadth of the bed, crawling towards him through the tangled sheets. Severus was watching her purposefully; his fervour for her very much awake and sizzling. Once she was close enough, he grabbed her arms and tugged. The next instant, she was securely tucked beneath him. His mouth was on hers, and his hands were unbuttoning the shirt she had buttoned a minute ago. "Stay," he murmured between kisses, his palms covered her fleshy breasts and his lips moved onto her clavicle, sucking and nibbling.

"I can't," she moaned and gently tried to push him off her. Our wizard remained unmovable, though. His kisses were becoming more heated by the minute. The Potions master was on fire again. All that happened earlier that day had dawned on him. His own tormenting doubts and concerns along with Lucius, who had come by only to stub a steel blade into his former friend's soul and then twist it there torturously. All of these brought Severus' insecurities and jealousy up to the surface once again and made him as eager, as Hermione has been, when she ambushed him a few hours before. Or, to be precise, my friends, Severus was more than eager – he was desperate.

"Stay," he groaned into her ear again, and then, not waiting for her answer, the wizard hectically pushed aside all the layers of clothing the witch managed to put between him and his goal, and plunged home. "Stay," he repeated the moment he found his voice again. The witch in his arms covered his chest with feather-light kisses, and still slightly out of breath, huskily whispered, "I can't Severus. I want to, but I can't. I need to go. I will work all night," Hermione glanced at him apologetically. "I am being paranoid, I know. But, this project is important to me. Tomorrow, Severus, I will stay tomorrow, after presentation. I am planning to take a little vacation starting Friday. We will have plenty of time." Severus didn't answer. He silently rolled off her, effectively freeing the witch and giving her an opportunity to stand up. She dressed in silence. He lay in his bed, watching her thoughtfully, contemplating whether to ask her '_to stay'_ one more time. Curiously, it seemed somehow crucial for Severus to be able to make her stay. Moreover, the fire was still slowly burning in his chest, not giving him any chance for peaceful basking in the afterglow.

When she was done dressing, Hermione came closer to him and after a short, awkward pause said, "Will you come tomorrow, please. I want you to be there." And with that, she put a little piece of white parchment on the pillow near him. A second later, with a little kiss to his forehead, she was gone.

Severus took the parchment from the pillow. It was an invitation to Hermione's final presentation. In bewilderment, the wizard carefully investigated it, already feeling the rage rising and pulsating in his temples and roaring in his ears. The invitation was almost the same as the one that Lucius had brought. Almost. There was only one minor difference. There was no picture on the cover.

_**I am sorry, my darlings. I know, I hadn't updated for a while. But, I promise, I will try to return to my previous schedule: a chapter once a week or so.**_

_**Please, review. I would love to know what you think.**_


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to emphasize that this story is here only because Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and edited it, but also supported me on every step of the way. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. All mistakes are mine, because I tampered with this poor chapter after my beta had checked it._

_**To Be a Woman**_

_Chapter Fifteen_

_**Her Doubts**_

Later on that Wednesday night, Hermione Granger, our freshly baked politician, sat in her flat, massaging her aching temples in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure.

Disappointingly, an oppressive sensation of uneasiness constricting her heart wouldn't let go. Not even after her frantic tryst with Severus, which she had so boldly and urgently initiated earlier in the day. A dull ache just kept squeezing her heart in its steel, cold claws with every drawn breath. Hermione sighed and turned her attention to her project, for the hundredth time trying to make it even more perfect that it already was. However, thoughts about Severus and their relationships, along with thoughts about the altogether different wizard, soon found their way to her curly-haired head and engulfed her mind again.

Hermione drew a wistful sigh. Something was clearly not right, and she had known it for some time now. Here, my friends, I want us to stop and spend a few minutes, in order to understand the roots and depth of Hermione's turmoil.

Our young witch became aware of this dreadful, throbbing feeling in her heart on her first morning with Severus after their reunion. While she hastened through the breadth of his bedroom in her morning rush to get to the Ministry on time, she caught Severus watching her intently. His black eyes followed her with an expression she didn't quite know how to read. It wasn't his usual sarcastic smirk, or fury, or that slow burning fire she loved so much. No, it was something entirely different. His pensive gaze made her feel like a traitor, as if she betrayed him by choosing her work over him. The thought made Hermione extremely uncomfortable. She already had felt this way once, with Ron, and she hated that.

Severus of course didn't tell her anything, and she left for work with her heart pressing heavily against her chest. For a few following days, she kept returning to his villa. On some days, she stayed the night; on some, she didn't. Naively, Hermione still hoped for an in-depth and long conversation between them. She truly needed to know where they stood. Alas, Severus wasn't particularly forthcoming, and eventually, our witch, being overwhelmed by her work and her newly found political career, gave up.

The heaviness in her heart wasn't gone though. It was growing, getting heavier and more difficult to endure with every passing day. When Wednesday came, Hermione found herself terribly conflicted. On one side, there was her lover – desperately passionate, agonisingly possessive – yet as inscrutable and uncommunicative as a bloody marble pillar. Although Hermione fancied herself to be in love with Severus, his position of silence infuriated and tortured her excruciatingly. Heck, it was simply unacceptable – she was hanging in suspense for far too long. Plus, his glaring, unfathomable eyes were burning holes in her back every time she was ready to leave for home or the Ministry. Those eyes, full of unspoken pleas and accusations, forced her to feel guilty, even though she had never committed any deception.

On the other side of her life, namely, at work, the situation was completely opposite. Lucius was extremely talkative and attentive. Surely, she did suspect foul play at first. However, day after day, they worked together. They talked, they had lunches, and eventually, she got used to him. At some point during this last week, she even caught herself with theodd notion that Lucius Malfoy listened and talked to her much, much more often than her lover. Thus, there was a fair chance that the blond wizard was better informed about who she was now and what she wanted from life than Severus. The idea was disconcerting, to say the least.

Then again, there was the kiss that Lucius and she had shared after the presentation. She didn't want to think about it, and still a memory did float to the surface of her conscience every so often. The kiss itself was short, and while it wasn't unpleasant, she didn't find it noteworthy at that moment. As you remember, our young witch didn't have a chance to dwell on her actual sensations because a second later she went running after Severus. However, long hours with Lucius' handsome face in proximity finally had pushed a recollection of the kiss to the front of Hermione's mind. The thought of Lucius Malfoy's lips moving over hers brought a fluttering sensation to Hermione's stomach. Darn, it was so bloody confusing. As if her situation wasn't twisted enough already, she could swear that every once in a while she felt how Lucius' heated gaze brushed over her skin, making her hot and tingly all over in the process. Our young witch never managed to catch him at it though. Every time she looked him straight in the eyes – she saw only tepid, measured friendliness there. _Damn you, sly, crafty Slytherin_!

So, naturally, being jammed between the two wizards, and stressing excessively about her initiative, Hermione wasn't in her calmest state of mind, to put it mildly. Hermione's poor heart was splintered and split by all her doubts and inner conflicts. Moreover, a weird, apprehensive feeling of impending loss, the sensation that something dear to her was slipping away had inserted itself in Hermione's already aching heart. Eventually, the tension became unbearable. She couldn't work, and that is why she eventually dropped everything in the middle of the day and went to Severus. His passion, his flaming desire for her did make her feel better, and for a moment, she felt content. She even managed to calm down enough for a little nap in her lover's arms.

Alas, when Severus' had stubbornly attempted to pursue her to stay, she felt a bit put off. He didn't trouble himself with questions about her work, nor did he give her any reason why he wanted her there with him, except the clipped 'stay' and frenzied coupling. His actions, or better, a lack of them, brought back her uneasiness, along with heartache. She needed to hear more from him than one short word '_stay_', and so she left.

Now sitting at her flat Hermione regretted it and felt even worse than before. Questions rolled in her mind over and over. She sighed, absentmindedly twisting one of her long curls. _What exactly was she for him? What did he want from her? _She was angry with herself for continuing her affair with Severus for so long without the proper discussion of what they meant to each other. She chided herself that she was just as much at fault.

After contemplation for half the night, our straight-laced Gryffindor made herself a promise to resolve this situation at any cost. And even though her project was her main concern for now, she decided that tomorrow, after her presentation, she would corner her beloved Potions master and tear all the answers she so desperately needed from him. And if she would need to spend the whole week interrogating him, or, Merlin forbid, torturing him with her kisses and such – then that would be it. With this plan in mind, Hermione went over her papers a couple final times, just to make sure that everything was all right**, **and went to sleep for those few remaining hours.

_**Her Tears**_

*_We could have had it all..._

"Severus, wait!" shouted Hermione, swearing under her breath, "bloody, stubborn wizard."

As you can certainly see, my darlings, our young witch had found herself in the same position she was a week ago – running after her lover again. Only this time she was darting through the halls of Malfoy Manor. The dual tappingof their feet on the marble floor created a cacophonous sound, which was bouncing from the stone walls, jarring on her nerves.

"Severus!" shouted Hermione once again. Alas, it looked like this time our Potions master was determined to ignore the young witch. He was keeping his pace steadily, completely oblivious to her pleas to stop.

Anger began to bubble in the witch's heart. She felt stupid and was utterly furious with Severus and herself. She was a grown up and quite accomplished witch, for Merlin's sake. A successful politician and most certainly not some kind of foolish adolescent, and still, she was reduced to constant chasing of her lover through different halls and corridors.

The situation was ridiculous. For a good part of the after presentation cocktail, Hermione tried to get to Severus. However, one or another Ministry official kept stopping her for questions or compliments. The final presentation was a huge success. Lucius had outdone himself with decorations and refreshments. The atmosphere was quite festive and each and every guest just had to talk to the heroine of the day and the host. With Lucius' hand firmly planted around her waist, Hermione was forced to do quite a lot mingling. Severus, on the other hand, refused to move closer to her, and just stood in the far corner, resembling a black cliff with a motley sea of people around him.

At some point, our young politician managed to escape from the crowd and Lucius. She almost reached her beloved black-haired wizard, whose darkened demeanour began to worry her. Unfortunately, she bumped into Kingsley Shacklebolt and once again was forced to talk to him for a good half an hour. In agony, she saw how her lover turned on his heel and left. Thank God Lucius came to her rescue. And even though the blond wizard tried to whisk her away to mingle with someone important, Hermione politely declined and went after Severus again.

Here she was, darting through the Manor and shouting 'Severus' to no avail. Hermione could already see the Floo. Four more of his wide strides and Severus would disappear in its green flames. Hermione huffed and increased her speed. Right at this moment, Severus abruptly stopped and turned to face her, his face a dark and unreadable mask.

"Is there something you wanted from me, Miss Granger?" His ice-cold tone and the use of her last name stopped Hermione dead in her tracks. Looking into his cold, black eyes, Hermione immediately knew that here it was; it was happening now. For a week, she had been subconsciously and apprehensively waiting for this terrible event. Our girl felt how all blood drew from her face. The clamour in her ears became unbearably loud, and cold sweat covered her forehead. She couldn't find her voice, and the air seemed to be too thick for breathing.

"Severus," she winced, feeling how her heart, already wounded by his '_Miss Granger'_, was profusely bleeding into her chest cavity.

"Miss Granger," Severus continued in monotonous, detached voice. "I think you need to return to your many admirers. Your crowd awaits Miss Granger." And with this, he turned to leave.

Desperate to stop him, Hermione cried out, her voice breaking, "Severus, wait, what about us? Please, wait, we need to talk." The wizard stopped but didn't face her. Standing with his back to her, he answered, his voice even more dull and lifeless, "We had a fine affair, Miss Granger. It was pleasant while it lasted, but now it is over. Have a good life, Miss Granger. Please, pass my congratulations to Lucius. He is a fine match for you." And in the next second the Floo's flames swallowed him.

Hermione uttered a fierce shriek as a sudden fury burst inside her chest, "Oh no you don't, you bastard!" She hectically grabbed a handful of Floo powder and jumped into the fireplace, fully intending to hex the damn wizard into tomorrow. To her surprise, a minute later she ended up on her bum, on the floor, in front of the same Malfoy Manor's Floo. She sprang up and tried again, then again and then again, already wailing in full-blown hysteria.

Eventually, the familiar voice behind her drawled softly, "He closed the Floo, Hermione. It is futile to try to reach him now. It is time to give up." Two strong arms lifted the sobbing witch from the cold marble, and our heartbroken girl found herself crying her eyes out into the expensive robes of Lucius Malfoy.

The night went by in a blur for her. Among few things she remembered were how first, she cried. Then she cried some more. Then, Lucius, evidently tired of her tears, forced a cup of tea upon her. After tea, she talked nonsense – about her life, about Harry, about Ron. All the while, her head lay on Lucius' lap, and he was gently smoothing her curls, giving her an opportunity to pour out her soul to him. At some point, most likely in the middle of her speech, she fell into the blackness of restless slumber, still right there in Lucius' sitting room, with her head in his lap.

Friday morning came when Wrinkly, Lucius' house elf, brought a letter from the Ministry. Apparently, poor Lucius had to spend the night sitting. With difficulties, they both moved from their uncomfortable positions. Finally, after a few unsuccessful attempts to open the scroll with his fingers which were slightly numb and uncooperative after this hellish night, the letter was opened and read aloud. Kingsley Shacklebolt took it upon himself to inform Lucius that Hermione's initiative went through without a single vote against it.

Hermione's tired and depressed mind couldn't thoroughly comprehend the news, so she began to sob again. This time, after a low growl, "That's enough," she found herself in Lucius' arms once more and felt a familiar pull of a Portkey. After that, everything went black.

_**Her Heart – Prelude**_

A vague, mellow sound of waves breaking off the shore reached Hermione's ears, and she stirred under silk sheets. With a sigh, she peered from under her eyelashes, not inclined to open her eyes fully just yet. Diffused afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, and for a minute or so, our young witch unabashedly basked in the suns' pleasant warmth, enjoying its soft caresses on her skin. Stretching lazily, she turned and shifted in bed, allowing the rays to cover her with their whispery, warm kisses.

The sound of a gently opened door and light steps made her tense slightly. A moment later, she heard a soft, familiar baritone murmuring into her ear, "Are you awake, darling?"

_Hmm, Lucius, _she thought_. Lucius?_

At that moment, reality crashed on our poor, young witch and mercilessly knocked the air from her lungs. In mere seconds, everything that had transpired during the last twenty-four hours rushed through the witch's mind.

A muffled cry escaped her mouth and tears filled her eyes again.

A soft hand came to rest soothingly on her shoulder, and Lucius whispered, "Shh, my dear, shh, enough tears, darling, please."

_AN *We could have had it all...– Adele/Rolling in the Deep_

_**My dear readers, please, review. Your feedback is truly needed and appreciated. Thank you. Savva **_


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_****__****__********__I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank my beta Glorioux – my good friend, an amazing author and a brilliant beta, not only had sacrificed her precious time (and sometimes sanity!) and supported me on every step of the way. Huge thank you to Valady for giving this chapter a much needed polishing. A special thanks goes also to my consultants Ignaty and Lima Bean. _

**_To Be a Woman_**

_Chapter Sixteen_

**_Her Heart_**

_I let it fall, my heart__  
__And as it fell, you rose to claim it_  
_It was dark and I was over_  
_Until you kissed my lips and you saved me_**_*_**

A vague, mellow sound of waves breaking off the shore reached Hermione's ears, and she stirred under silk sheets. With a sigh, she peered from under her eyelashes, not inclined to open her eyes fully just yet. Diffused afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, and for a minute or so, our young witch unabashedly basked in the suns' pleasant warmth, enjoying its soft caresses on her skin. Stretching lazily, she turned and shifted in bed, allowing the rays to cover her with their whispery, warm kisses.

The sound of a gently opened door and light steps made her tense slightly. A moment later, she heard a soft, familiar baritone murmuring into her ear, "Are you awake, darling?"

_Hmm, Lucius,_she thought_. Lucius?_

At that moment, reality crashed n on our poor, young witch and mercilessly knocked the air from her lungs. In mere seconds, everything that had transpired during the last twenty-four hours rushed through the witch's mind.

A sob lodged in Hermione's throat, making it once again hard to draw a breath. A renewed sense of loss and anger caused heartache's dull dagger to twist inside the young her chest. Hermione felt her soul began its slow descent into the black pit of depression.

However, this time, a deep, velvety drawl saying, "Enough tears, darling, please," didn't allow her to fall into the melancholy. Lucius' gentle fingers softly, but determinedly, turned Hermione's face towards him, and she met his light grey eyes. Lucius was sitting on the edge of the bed, and his gaze, shimmering in the afternoon sun, was focused on her. Tsk-ing under his breath, he deftly conjured a thin, batiste handkerchief and wiped away her tears. "There, much better," he murmured, giving her a slightly patronizing smile.

The blond wizard's proximity, along with the spicy scent of his cologne, brought back to her the recollection of the previous night. Half of which Hermione had spent pressed firmly into his chest, wetting it with her tears, and the rest with her head cuddled on his lap. Hence, after everything that had transpired between them last night, it felt perfectly normal and maybe even right when Lucius' soft fingertips brushed a stray curl from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear.

A sudden return to her gloomy reality overwhelmed Hermione rather heavily. Thus, for a while, she simply laid there, trying to find and gather the strength to move, to breathe, and to live. After a thorough search into the depths of her soul, she came out empty-handed and exhausted. Unable to find any willpower to fight, our young witch did what her survival instinct told her to do – she focused on the warm hand that continued to skim gently over her face. Her eyelids fluttered and fell shut, still heavy from slumber. Hermione let out a shuddered breath, and wholeheartedly gave into Lucius' comforting gesture.

The wizard's warm fingers traced the delicate oval of her face. His hand felt confident and insistent, awakening the familiar tingling and hotness in the pit of her stomach. When Hermione sensed the back of Lucius' hand brushing against her cheekbone, and felt its slow descent towards her neck, she shivered and let out a ragged sigh. His knuckles tickling and teasing her sensitive skin, warming her, drawing her closer, forcing her to sink hopelessly in a pleasurable trance.

Slowly, but surely, Lucius' lingering touches and whispery caresses surrounded Hermione in an intoxicating atmosphere of sensuality, lifting her sombre mood and depression in the process. Unconsciously, Hermione leaned into his sinfully masterful hands, implicitly welcoming and encouraging his game of seduction. With her breathing rapidly increasing, she arched her body over the silk sheets, giving Lucius more access, more freedom, wanting to feel more of his caresses. And those dexterous fingers were only too happy to oblige, stroking her face, tracing her lips, and teasing her springy curls.

However, when the bed shifted slightly, and Hermione sensed Lucius' hot breath ghosting over her lips, her eyes flew wide open in surprise. Lucius' grey eyes were just above her, staring into hers intently. Being captured by their hypnotizing lucidity, Hermione couldn't move. For a while, they simply stared at each other. There was a moment, when Hermione could swear that she saw a hint of something familiar in Lucius' gaze – the same fiery, intense desire she saw so many times in Severus' eyes. Her breath hitched involuntarily, and her heart sped up in inexplicable anticipation. She lowered her eyes to his lips and waited. The air between them suddenly became thick and hot. Their breath was laboured; their chests heaved; their nostrils flared. The only thing our girl wanted at that moment was for those wilful lips to capture hers. Oh, how appealing and comforting they looked. She was sure that those lips could make her forget everything – the dull ache in her heart, Severus' black eyes and his cold rejection – absolutely everything. Alas, the blond wizard uttered a low, husky growl, and before long, the raw fire was concealed under tamed, friendly concern. Lucius smiled at her resolutely, pushed himself off the bed and walked to the window.

Hermione wasn't about to acknowledge her disappointment with the wizard's abrupt withdrawal. She knew it was for the best since she was truly very much out of sorts. _Thus, it is neither the time nor the place,_ she chided herself. _Oh, and by the way, about the place,_the witch suddenly remembered.

"Where are we, Lucius? Where did you take me? I don't remember agreeing to go anywhere with you." Only now, watching Lucius standing by the window, Hermione noticed that he wasn't wearing his traditional pompous ensemble. There were only a light grey trousers and white shirt on him. No robes, no waistcoats, no cravats, and no snake-headed cane were in sight. And he looked rather... different. His skin glowed enticingly, as the afternoon sun played in the blond hair that covered his chest, and quite visible thanks to an unbuttoned shirt. In embarrassment, our young witch felt a blush creep across her cheeks. With difficulty, Hermione managed to tear her eyes from the glowing wizard and looked around.

Meanwhile, Lucius extended his hand to her and said, "Come, I will show you where we are."

At this, Hermione at last turned her attention to exactly what she was wearing. With all the heartache and tears, she had entirely forgotten about that little detail. To her relief, she was still wearing the silk slip, which she wore under her robes yesterday. Turning around, she spotted her robes on the chair near the bed. It was obvious that the clothes were folded with a spell. _Thank God, phew._Hermione let out a breath she was holding. She hoped genuinely that the wizard didn't peek while disrobing her when she had blacked out that morning. However, to be honest, she wasn't terribly concerned – it was done, and there was nothing she could do about it. Besides, she had a more pressing matter at hand now. How was she to get to her robes with the wizard in the room?

Understanding Hermione's predicament and playing the gentleman, Lucius turned fully toward the window and gave her the opportunity to reach and grab her robes. Hermione quickly jumped off the bed and immediately regretted it. Her head began to spin, her vision blurred, and she slumped back on the bed. She was unpleasantly reminded about the sleepless night spent in tears. When the dizziness subsided, the witch stood up slowly, put her robes over the slip and hastily wrapped them around her body. Still feeling somewhat unsteady, she walked toward the wizard, carefully looking at her feet.

When she came to stand near Lucius and peeked through the window, the view that greeted Hermione's eyes momentarily blinded her with its beauty. She stood there speechless. Reverently the witch took in the long, white sandy shore with azure waves, which lazily licked the sand and glistened arrogantly in the gloaming. The scenery was simply breathtaking.

"Where are we, Lucius?" Hermione managed to breathe out, still watching out of the window in awe.

"Italy. This little cottage has been kept in my family for centuries. It is passed on from father to son. Do you like it here, dear?" With this, Lucius put his hand on Hermione's shoulder and turned her towards him. His two fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. The wizard's chocolaty baritone crept sneakily into our girl's heart, inflaming it, causing it to miss a beat or two.

"I believe, you are on holidays starting from this Friday. Stay with me here, Hermione. If you allow me, I can make you feel better, my darling. I promise. Will you?"

His intense gaze heated up her skin and her insides much quicker than she cared to admit. His palm on her shoulder moved under her curls and settled confidently at the nape of her neck. Lucius' fingers lifted Hermione's chin a bit higher as they burned her skin with their heat.

"Will you, my darling?" Lucius repeated, lowering his face to her, so his lips were once again hovering directly over Hermione's.

Feeling lightheaded and dizzy, Hermione only managed to mumble, "What about my clothes, toiletries? I don't have anything here." There was no fight left in her, no power to resist. Thus, our young witch parted her lips slightly and leaned closer to the tempting mouth of the one and only Lucius Malfoy.

"We will resolve this little problem of yours, Hermione." A low chuckle forced the air between them to vibrate, teasing Hermione's lips and heightening the sense of anticipation. "Do not forget who you are dealing with, my dear girl." With that, he closed the final half of an inch between them, and their lips finally met in a slow, sensual kiss.

Their first kiss had been hasty and unanticipated, but now, the spicy taste of Lucius' mouth, the mastery of his lips and tongue, and the possessiveness and insistence of his arms, caught Hermione utterly off guard. Somehow, she never expected that cool, elegant, and arrogantly detached Lucius Malfoy could be so... so encompassing in his passion.

She could imagine Lucius to be demanding, yes, but so damn, scorching hot – never. In a matter of seconds, the wizard managed to surround her with his overwhelming presence. Lucius' hand in her hair kept her immobilized. His hungry mouth moved powerfully over hers, and his tongue encouraged their mutual exploration. His other arm snaked around her waist and pressed her tightly against his thighs. Hermione could feel light tremors coursing through Lucius' body. Those little signs of his strong desire for her caused her melt into him. And apparently, those tremors were highly contagious, because soon she began to tremble in his embrace as well.

Lucius' evident arousal, pressing against her stomach, brought her back to reality. She gasped and attempted to pull away from that sinful mouth and his arms. Lucius recognised her condition, and with an almost inaudible grunt let go of her.

Hermione gazed into his eyes and tried to explain. "Lucius, I..." Suddenly, all the right words escaped her. She stood there gasping for air, as a hard lump in her throat began to chock her once again.

"Shh...," he said and two long fingers tilted her chin up. His thumb traced her lips gently, and he said, "I am not in a hurry, Hermione."

Hermione smiled through her teary eyes, sniffled, nodded, and cuddled into the comforting broadness of his chest. With a sigh, she allowed Lucius' spicy scent to cocoon her in its intoxicating cloud.

Yes, my dear readers, at this moment the usually wilful and headstrong witch felt weak and needy. We undoubtedly cannot blame her for that, can we? Our beloved Potions master did manage to break her heart this time. And yes, the wizard by her side maybe was not the right wizard at all. But he _was_ there for her. And, most importantly, this particular man was so insistently demonstrating his readiness to give her the precise thing she so desperately sought that our girl was unwilling to look for any signs of possible deceit or foul play. The formula was truly simple – Lucius Malfoy was offering her his comforting presence, and she, Hermione Granger was severely in need of it. Thus, with no regrets or backward glances for now, she accepted it.

**_Falling Short of the Mark_**

As for Severus Snape, this Friday afternoon found him in his lab brewing potions. The afternoon was grim, or perhaps it would be better to say, the atmosphere in the room was heavily saturated with dreadful despondency. In short – the wizard felt miserable.

Yes, my dear ones, since Severus had stepped into his living room and had blocked his Floo on that blasted Thursday night, the nasty, cold and slimy slug of gloom had crept into his chest and settled there, as it had seemed to him, for the time being. It is not that Severus hadn't deserved it there in his chest – he most certainly had. However, in all fairness, let's take a closer look at what exactly had happened after Severus had bid his icy farewell to Hermione, and what had pushed our Potions master to such extremes.

When on Thursday night, Severus walked out of his fireplace; he had been greeted with the darkness and silence of his cold, empty living room. Feeling somewhat sick, he simply stood there for a long while, pressing his feverish forehead to the cool marble mantel. _I did the right thing. I did the bloody right thing. _Severus had kept repeating to himself in his mind. Yet, with each passing minute, it had been more and more difficult to justify his brutality, even to himself.

"Bollocks," Severus had moaned.

An hour ago, at the Manor, while Severus had watched Hermione surrounded by the admiring crowd, with Lucius' hand snaked possessively around her waist, everything had been so obvious, so apparent to him. Severus had been so sure that his blond ex-friend had been right. Hermione had looked so happy and so proud of herself.

Looking at her, Severus had felt scorching-hot anger filling him up to the gills. He had been furious with himself for foolishly falling in love with the witch. He had been furious with Hermione for being so content when he was miserable. He had been furious with Lucius for being a deceitful arse, and still being so damn right about everything. Soon, each long minute of standing there alone, as an outcast, had become pure torture and agony for Severus. Crystalline peals of Hermione's laughter had been deafening and her bright smiles became blinding.

His jealousy had been killing him. He had been burning, going mad. Then, there had been the last straw in the form of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Severus had recognised it then. The realization finally had dawned on the wizard – there was no space for him near Hermione. He simply did not fit.

Therefore, he had ended it. He masterfully destroyed the fragile harmony they had formed with a few cruel words. It had been the work of a real pro. The only thing he had left to hope for was that Hermione would be happy with Lucius, or whichever wizard she would choose.

_Agh, _Severus' fist had slammed into the marble. He had not been ready to picture Hermione with Lucius, or any other wizard at all. But, it had been too late for regrets now – he had closed the deal. He had done it and there were no way back.

Of course, as the minutes had been ticking away, and our Potions master had continued to lean on the cold marble mantel in his living room, sneaky doubts had found their way into his head. _Was I right? Was it the right thing to do? _Before long, these thoughts had overriddenhis reasoning and had filled his mind with remorse.

"Enough," the wizard had growled aloud.

He had needed to stop thinking about Hermione and the sooner the better. A solution had been clear – in order to avoid these self-destructive thoughts and doubts he had to render himself unconscious. Now!

The consumption of a large amount of Firewhisky would have been perhaps the easiest way. However, our ever stoic, or maybe simply masochistic wizard, had not allowed himself just to get pissed. No, Severus had gone to his potion laboratory instead. Once there, he had locked and warded it, preventing Casimir's intervention and then had begun to brew, wholeheartedly thanking Merlin for all the open orders that needed to be filled.

Now, eighteen hours later, Severus Snape was still there, in his lab, still hovering over the steaming cauldron, still brewing. Of course, he was on the brink of collapse from exhaustion. However, taking into consideration that it was his goal in the first place, he was almost at the vortex. He also knew that if he did not remove his wards soon, his house would be destroyed by one pesky and extremely irritated house-elf. Severus could sense, how his devoted elf was methodically trying to penetrate the room. Casimir was never one who would give up easily. _Impudent little creature_, thought Severus, _relentlessly_ _stubborn, just like Hermione_.

This thought released a fresh wave of nauseating feelings of loss, which our Potions master had tried to banish from his heart by working himself half to death. The whole plan, however, did not work the way it was supposed to because even though Severus was extremely tired, and completely drained. Still, the hurt look in Hermione's eyes haunted him, and her heart-wrenching cry tortured him.

_I did the right thing_. Severus told himself for the hundredth time and with finality.

You see, my darlings, our Potions master didn't spend the last eighteen hours only brewing potions. Somewhere between stirring the steaming liquids in the cauldrons and cutting the ingredients, Severus managed to build a beautiful, logical rationalization for his behaviour in his mind. He found a perfect explanation for his actions. And, believe me, it wasn't one with the words jealousy, temper, or stubbornness in it.

No, it was the one that Lucius so conveniently fetched for him the other day. Namely – he loved the witch and so he freed her from himself to give her an opportunity for a better life. More than once during his self-inflicted exile, he reminded himself how strongly he hated the spotlight, and how, most likely, he would never be able to overcome that and aid Hermione in her career. And, at last, as a final argument, our wizard told himself that he never even considered marriage, let alone children. A terribly convincing and comfortable theory, isn't it? Now it was only a matter of time and devotion before Severus himself would begin to believe in it.

"I did the right thing," Severus bitterly chuckled for the last time. With difficulty, he corked the last vial and slumped in the chair, simultaneously removing the wards from the lab. The next instant he heard an angry crack signalling Casimir's arrival.

"Merlin, help me," tiredly muttered Severus and being unable to defeat gravity any longer he closed his fatigued, leaded eyelids.

**_AN – *Set Fire to the Rain/Adele_**

_**Here it is, my darlings.**__** Please, review. Your feedback is truly needed and appreciated. Thank you. Savva**_


	18. Chapter Seventeen

_______**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank**** Glorioux, Lima Bean and Valady – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty. Please be aware of a non-canon use of canon devices.**_

**_To Be a Woman_**

_Chapter Seventeen_

**_Be Afraid of the Elf on the Warpath  
_**  
Casimir was not happy. He was not happy at all. The little creature was sick with worry for his master. While Severus had been barricaded in his laboratory, his poor house-elf had gone to his wit's end and back. He knew that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong with _Missy Hermione _and now his beloved master was not well. He even had checked Hermione's flat, trying to understand what exactly had gone wrong. He had found the flat empty of course.

"Silly, silly Master," muttered the heartsick house-elf, while he was covering Severus' sleeping form with a thick, woollen blanket. "Me tells Master Mister Lucius is bad. Me tells Master not to listen to Mister Lucius. No, Master not listens to Casimir. Master always knows better than Casimir." The discontented elf continued to grumble, gently tucking the blanket and fixing the pillow under Severus' head. When everything was up to the elf's standards, he drew a heavy sigh and gazed at his master with a sorrowful expression.

"Me not understands why Master not believes Casimir? Why not listens? Where is Missy Hermione now?" The elf shook his head sadly.

For a long while, Casimir simply stood there, in his master's bedroom, watching the sleeping wizard with his teary yellow eyes. The creature was twisting one of his long, hairy ears thoughtfully, and the only sounds in the room were his sniffles and Severus' rhythmic breathing. Awkwardly shifting his big, flat, bare feet and still mumbling something about Missy and Master, Casimir was caught in his own deep musings. Suddenly, the little creature uttered an exaggerated huff, and squeaked, "No new Missy for Wrinkly," and darted out of his master's chamber. Obviously, our loyal house-elf had finally put all the facts together.

When he appeared a heartbeat later in front of the fireplace in Severus' living room, he was wearing a clean, blue apron and a green trilby hat, which was seated rather tightly between his ears. Casimir's eyes were ablaze with such a high degree of a fiery determination that even our Gryffindor lioness might have got jealous. The creature grabbed a handful of Floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and with a scratchy shout, "Malfoy Manor!" he vanished into the green flames.

On the other side of the Floo, in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor to be precise, the old elf Wrinkly was going to have tea. With master Lucius in Italy, the Manor was quiet these days, and thus, Wrinkly was truly enjoying himself. With a fine cup of hot tea in one hand and a biscuit in another, Lord Malfoy's elf was an epitome of relaxation.

And that was how our little, hairy, yellow eyed knight found him. Casimir stumbled out of the kitchen's fireplace, simultaneously producing a large cloud of soot, right when Wrinkly was about to take a bite of his perfectly crumbly biscuit. The old elf paused for a moment, took in Casimir's dishevelled visage and, without so much as a nod, bit his biscuit and began to chew. Severus' devoted servant in one prideful movement fixed his slightly askew hat and locked his angry eyes on Wrinkly.

"Where is Missy Hermione? Wrinkly tells me now, or else!" Casimir pressed his lips into a hard, thin line, mimicking with deft precision his master's most beloved facial expression, and waited for an answer.

Wrinkly arched one greyish, bushy eyebrow, slowly put the cup on the saucer, and drawled in a squeaky voice, "Me tells you nothing, boy. Wrinkly answers only to Master Lucius." And with that, the old elf returned to his tea, looking positively unperturbed by Casimir's presence.

For a few moments, Casimir watched the older elf silently, a high level of indignation evident in his yellow gaze. Then he walked closer to him, tilted his massive head toward Wrinkly's ear and uttered in a dangerous whisper, "Casimir is not a boy. Casimir knows what is best for his Master. Wrinkly not wants me as an enemy. Wrinkly better thinks fast, before it is too late. Me knows all Wrinkly's little secrets. Me tells everything to Wrinkly's Master – how Wrinkly drinks his Master's Firewhisky. How Wrinkly comes to the market late. Me knows how Wrinkly kisses and touches Mister Nott's little elf Nattie."

With joy, Casimir noticed that the older elf frowned after these words. Encouraged, he decided to pressure him further. "Where is Missy Hermione?" he asked, his squeaky voice climbing higher.

Wrinkly glared at him, shook his head, sighed and whispered in a hard tone, "Me tells you boy, me bows only to Master Lucius. Me tells you nothing. Casimir goes home now and Wrinkly drinks his tea in peace. Me is not scared of a little dimwit in a hat. Casimir takes his hat now and goes home quietly. Understands?" The old elf gave Casimir a stern stare and lifted his hand in warning. "Me counts to three, and you must be gone. One–"

With chagrin, Casimir recognised that this round was a fiasco. He huffed, turned, and walked to the fireplace. There he paused for a moment and facing the old elf once more, said, "This is not the end. Me finds the way; me is no dimwit. Missy Hermione loves my Master, not yours. Me knows." On this high note, Casimir stepped into the fireplace and vanished.

Wrinkly clicked his fingers to warm his cold tea and at last, returned his attention to his biscuit. "Dimwit," murmured the elf with an arrogant confidence between swigs of tea. There was one golden rule that Wrinkly had learned long ago – if you don't want to have troubles, never meddle in your Master's life. Far too many elves had been burned after sticking their noses where they shouldn't.

**_It's Time_**

Lucius stood in front of the stained glass door and watched Hermione coming out of the water. She was completely nude, and water happily shimmered and sparkled on her skin in the pinkish hues of sunrise. Oh, how our Lord Malfoy desired to be there with her, to be able to lick the Adriatic salt from her skin, to touch her wet curls, to dip his fingers in her warmth. The wizard let out a shuddered breath and placed his hand on the brass doorknob. After a minute of hesitation, he began slowly turning it. In the next second however, he stopped, reluctantly released the doorknob and brought his tightly clenched fist to his mouth. Growling hoarsely, "No," the wizard closed his teeth over his white, tensed knuckles. "Not yet."

Lucius' intense, silvery gaze was focused on Hermione. He watched intently how she leisurely strolled through the narrow strip of white sand. When she finally picked up her robe, wrapped it around her wet curves, and began her short journey back to the cottage, the wizard turned and hurriedly left the narrow corridor. Playful and unconcerned sunbeams danced on his taut back and in his long, blond locks until he disappeared around the corner.

Malfoy went straight to the shower. Quite understandably, he needed one urgently. The girl was breathtaking, and he felt his resolve and self-control crumbling. He couldn't hold himself aloof for much longer. For the last few days, it had been Lucius' morning ritual to watch her. When, on Saturday morning, the wizard had heard the sound of bare feet stepping lightly over the wooden floor, he had been intrigued. Naturally, he had followed her, and once she had let her robe fall on the sand, Lucius hadn't been able to leave. Today was his fourth sunrise. Now, standing in his shower under merciless, cold streams of water, Lucius knew – the time has come. If he wanted to stay sane, he ought to bring his seduction to fruition tonight.

Sure enough, he had lied when he said to Hermione that he was not in a hurry. The statement had been rather far from reality. Then again, Lucius was never a truthful person. In fact, he was very much in a rush. Our blond wizard only had a bit more than a week to make everything happen. Ten days wasn't very long but it was workable.

He had achieved quite a lot by this point. He had managed to lure his witch to Italy with him. He had given her four days to relax and come about. He hadn't bothered her with his advances. He had allowed the girl to use him for comfort and sweet talk. His Italian elf, Fabio had used all his resources in order to make the witch comfortable. On Saturday morning, Fabio had brought the best silk robes, along with other necessities and luxuries to her. _Ahh_, the elf knew his job remarkably well. Over the decades, the creature had served several Malfoy men, and let's just say that Hermione wasn't the first witch that had been brought to the cottage without necessities. She was however, the first witch to be brought here by this particular Malfoy.

By the time Lucius stepped out of his shower it was decided – today was the day. Lord Malfoy had a plan, and he would be damned if the witch would not end up in his bed tonight, or if she would go back to England without his ring on her finger. It was time for action, indeed.

**_Show Me Love*  
_**  
Hermione lay in the hammock in front of the cottage. With a glass of wine in her hand and a soft breeze caressing her skin, our witch relaxed contentedly in the gloaming. She felt fine these days. Italy was fabulous and she was having her best holidays ever. If only the throbbing inside her silly heart would vanish entirely, she would be perfectly happy. Alas, her heart still hurt, although the ache wasn't as sharp as it had been in the beginning. Yet, it remained, still bothering her, hidden somewhere deep in her soul.

Hermione's chocolate eyes were locked on Lucius, who was dipping his feet in azure water. His light trousers were rolled almost up to his knees, and his white shirt wasn't buttoned at all. Lately, the witch had made a habit of watching him. Here in Italy, Lucius looked entirely different – younger, carefree, and still insanely handsome. He even seemed more open somehow, more sincere, less guarded, unmasked. Lucius' grey eyes were warmer, or was it just the weather and Hermione's burning desire for him? Yes, my dear friends, you heard right – desire.

You see, my darlings, our young lioness needed him. Her broken heart basked in Lucius' confidence, strength, and his comforting presence. He didn't demand anything; he didn't overpower. No, he simply waited, just as he promised. Every morning he met her with a smile and a warm kiss of reassurance. It was only a matter of time before our witch began to wish for more than a friendly caress. She was young and very much alive, for Merlin's sake. Her warm flesh and hot blood insisted on much, much more than that. Plus, let's face it; Lucius Malfoy was one hell of a wizard – devilishly titillating and shamelessly sexy. Hence, now, while Hermione sipped her wine and kept her gaze fixed on the blond wizard, her thoughts travelled far beyond innocence.

When Lucius came near her, she smiled at him. He reciprocated with a dazzling smile and his uncovered chest blinded our girl, as usual. Blushing, Hermione averted her gaze. For a few seconds, the wizard watched her struggles with amusement. Then he took her hand, and lightly tugging the witch along, said, "Come, I have a plan for tonight. It's a surprise and I think you'll like it."

Hermione jumped off the hammock and followed the wizard's lead. Still keeping her hand in his, Lucius brought them to her bedroom. There, Fabio had been waiting for his master. In his hands, the elf held a set of silk robes and a cashmere cloak, both a deep burgundy colour. The set was bewitchingly stunning. However, it wasn't the clothes that forced the witch to catch her breath in awe. It was the mask on her bed – a Venetian mask, to be precise. The quality, the gilt of adornments, the rhinestones, and feathers made Hermione's fingers tremble. Never before had she seen such a thing, so decadent in its sumptuousness.

Gently caressing the elaborate embellishments of the mask's lacquered surface, Hermione turned her face to the wizard and only managed to breathe out, "Lucius."

The wizard greeted her with a smug, crooked smile. "I told you, you would like it. Now get ready, witch. We are going to the Venice carnival and our gondola awaits." He swept out of the room, closely followed by Fabio.

Hermione's eyes slid over the clothes and the mask once again. _Hmm_, she wondered, focusing her gaze on the cashmere cloak. It was rather warm for cashmere now. She touched the fine fabric and sighed, enjoying the feel of its luxurious softness against her fingertips. When the witch's gaze moved onto the silk robes, she noticed that Fabio had left undergarments for her as well. Black silk stockings and lingerie were carefully folded on the chair, right beside the robes. Hermione felt a blush creep over her cheeks once again. There was something both embarrassing and exciting in being taken care in such a thorough manner.

"All right," murmured the witch to herself. "It's time to get ready. Shower first." She took a calming breath and went to the bathroom.

An hour and a half later when Hermione, fully clothed, glanced into the old, narrow mirror, her breath hitched. She didn't recognise herself. There, in the reflection, she saw a stranger. She couldn't find the serious, straightforward, somewhat insecure, and a hair naive self anymore. A completely opposite person stared at her from the old mirror. The mask was covering half of her face. Feathers and golden ribbons accentuated her curls. The glitter and rhinestones, along with the silk of her robes shimmered softly and enticingly. Magically, she had metamorphosed into a mysterious, sensuous and predatory self-confident creature of the night. Suddenly, Hermione was overcome with an exhilarating sense of freedom. She felt attractive, brave, adventurous, even sinful, and inexplicably, highly aroused. A slightly hysterical giggle left her full lips. The witch gave herself a final glance and, still softly laughing, stepped out of her room.

Once in the corridor, she saw Lucius, who was nervously pacing the breadth of the cottage's living room. At the sound of the door, he immediately stopped and turned to greet her. He was already dressed as well, and for once, his mask was in place quite literally. Looking at him, taking in the image of him, Hermione couldn't hold the feverish, euphoric laughter that bubbled and simmered inside her. The wizard was magnificent. His black robes and cloak were adorned with silver glitter and green stones. The green mask he was wearing covered only half of his face, leaving his succulent lips visible to Hermione's hungry eyes.

After a moment of mutual admiration, Lucius cleared his throat and drawled, his voice still somewhat hoarse, "You look exquisite, darling. No man in his right mind could stay unaffected by such a captivating and shamelessly provocative creature."

"Shamelessly provocative, am I really?" whispered Hermione seductively. There was undoubtedly something magical in the air this evening. The urgent need to taste Lucius' mouth overpowered the witch. She stepped closer to him and pressed her lips to his. He tasted like chocolate and firewhisky. Lucius didn't miss even a millisecond. His arms instantly circled Hermione's waist, pressing her tightly against him, and his tongue delved into her mouth, eliciting an animated moan from her.

A few long moments later, Lucius whispered into her ear, "Time to go, Hermione. Put on your cloak; it is going to be cold." While Hermione was obediently wrapping her burgundy cloak around herself, Lucius took a finely made, antique Time-Turner and began to count quietly. When he was done, he lifted his face to her and asked, "Are you ready to be entertained, my Lady?"

Hermione met his eyes and still feeling a bit dizzy after their kiss, said with laughter, "Yes, my Lord."

"Very well," his mellow baritone vibrated against her ear, and together they stepped into the Floo. Lucius spoke something in Italian, and green flames swallowed them.

When they walked out of the enormous fireplace on the other side, an empty, dimly lit, marbled atrium greeted them with loud chiming. The sound was coming from the old gilt covered clock that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Startled by the eerie echo, Hermione instinctively pressed herself to Lucius. In turn, he drew her closer and, softly chuckling, "not so brave after all," hugged her shoulders.

The clock chimed ten times and Lucius whispered into her hair, "We need to hurry. It will be over soon." And he led her through empty cold halls, stairs, and intricately interwoven corridors. The sounds of their steps and breathing reverberated throughout the palace, filling the silent emptiness with cacophonous clamour. At some point of their journey, she clearly felt that they were breaching the wards, and when she glanced at Lucius quizzically, he simply said, "Muggles repellent charms."

When Hermione could already hear the music, voices, and laughter, they finally reached an enormous door, heavily ornamented by cast iron and stained glass. There, Lucius paused and extracted a silver flask from his chest pocket. The wizard unscrewed the cork and took in a mouthful of the flask's content. Then he thrust it into Hermione's hands. "Drink, it is February out there," he said. "It'll help with the cold and set the right mood." The last part of the sentence he drawled with his customary, challenging smirk. His eyes shined, teasingly, through the mask's openings.

Hermione, still feeling quite bold and adventurous, took a large swig not bothering to ask what exactly was in there. She almost choked when the fine old firewhisky burst into her mouth, burning everything on its way down. Laughing and gasping for air, Hermione was pulled outside by Lucius who had opened the door, not waiting for her imminent scolding. There, the witch at last managed to draw a much-needed cooling breath and totally forgot about the wizard's mischief and her intent to hex him. On the street, _The_ _Carnevale di Venezia _met them in all its glory. It surrounded them, drowning them in its atmosphere of sheer decadence, forcing Hermione to forget everything.

The street was packed with people, wearing masks and costumes, and our couple fit right in with the crowd. The air was cold, with a light, foggy mist suspended in it. The narrow street, with one side opened to the canal, was festively decorated with lights, garlands, and flowers. Merchants were offering food and drinks on every corner, and music bands were squeezed between them. People around them laughed, sang songs and danced. The motley crowd looked bright, drunk, and utterly uncontrollable. Dark water shimmered dangerously under the lanterns' light. Dainty gondolas gracefully slid back and forth through the canals, bringing more and more people to the streets. Everything around them seemed surreal, dreamlike.

A white vapour, rising from the water, brought an unwelcome recollection of a steaming cauldron into Hermione's mind. Not allowing herself to dwell on it, even for a second, she turned her face to her masked companion and whispered, "Lucius, kiss me, please, kiss me now."

The wizard smiled, his grip on her waist tightened, and he purred, "Of course." For a moment, his lips simply teased the corners of her mouth, as he continued in a deep and dangerously heated growl, "Isn't it a fabulous venue for proper foreplay, Hermione?" Then, he kissed her.

Lucius' lips were insistent and gentle, equally demanding and giving. The kiss was long and decidedly mind blowing. The comment about proper foreplay bounced in Hermione's head, only adding fire to it. After Lucius gradually ended the kiss, they drifted with the crowd through the streets, looking around and laughing. Again and again, they drank from the silver flask, sharing the fiery liquid with each other during their kisses, and feeling as drunk and uncontrollable as the rest of the crowd.

Time had flown by unnoticed. Hermione didn't pay any attention to where Lucius was leading her. Only when they again entered the cold and empty building did she notice that they had returned to the same place where they had started a few hours ago. Once beyond the wards, she pushed him off her, and laughing, ran towards the already visible fireplace. She felt exhilaratingly free, seductive, powerful and dangerous. That handsome wizard, whose hot breathing was haunting her and whose steps were echoing through this mysterious, abandoned palace, was the one who made her feel that way. And she felt grateful.

The musings caused Hermione to slow down and, unsurprisingly, in the next second her masked companion caught up with her and yanked her to him. He pressed his prey into the wall, and his hungry mouth descended on hers. Hermione was on fire and more than ready to shed her mask and clothes. Moreover, she wished that Lucius would get rid of everything that kept his warm and smooth skin from her greedy, little fingers. Alas, Lucius stepped back from her and drew her to the fireplace. There, he took his Time-Turner from his pocket. Deftly, he made the needed number of turns, and hand in hand, our couple stepped into the Floo.

They stumbled from the fireplace in a tangled mass of cloaks, robes and masks. Hermione had begun to tug on Lucius' mask during their journey through the Floo, trying to remove it. Now, lying in the breathless heap on the cottage's floor, she finally remembered her wand and tried to find it in the folds of her silk robes. Lucius however, had other plans, because he gathered the witch in his arms with determination, and with his precious cargo tightly pressed to his chest, walked to his bedroom. There he gently put Hermione on the bed, immediately covering her body with his, once more not giving her an opportunity to remove anything. The witch huffed in distress and hissed, "Lucius, I want you naked. Now!"

A low chuckle was her only answer. Then, both their masks went flying to the corner of the room and at last, their faces were exposed. Silvery grey eyes caught Hermione's in their light, shimmering prison, and Lucius, watching the witch intently, asked, "Do you want this, Hermione? Are you ready to be mine? You have to think carefully, witch, before answering. Are you ready to be mine, Hermione?"

The seriousness of his grey eyes did nothing to abate the flame that was burning inside our girl. She desired this wizard. Her knickers had been thoroughly and pathetically soaked for the last two hours, indicating just how urgently she needed him. _So, what the hell was he talking about?_ Of course, she was ready. She was more than ready; she was desperate.

"Lucius," Hermione groaned in a breathy whisper, "I was ready for the last two hours, maybe even for the last two days. So if you, the bloody tease, won't do something hard and hot to me in the next second, you'll seriously risk losing me forever due to spontaneous combustion."

"Minx," laughed the wizard breathlessly. His lips deftly nibbled the skin on Hermione's neck. "Tell me that you agree to be mine, Hermione, tell me. I need to hear that." His fingers entangled themselves in her curls, immobilizing her, keeping her in place. His hips kept nudging her ever so slightly, driving her bonkers.

"How can I refuse the wizard who took me to the Venice carnival for foreplay? How can a girl say _'no'_ to such a man? It's impossible, Lucius, and you are impossible, absolutely insufferable," exclaimed the witch in defeat. Then added hurriedly, "Yes, yes, I am yours, Lucius, yours."

And that was the end and the beginning.

In a blink of an eye, our lovers were fully stripped, and in mere minutes, Hermione was brought to her first orgasm. The moment she felt Lucius' fingers finally delve into her needy wetness, and his mouth and palms found her breasts, she simply came undone.

"Oh, yes, that's the power of proper foreplay," purred the wizard in her ear.

Unhurriedly, the moaning witch was licked, kissed, and teased thoroughly. Endearments whispered by Lucius grazed continuously against the witch's skin. Along with his eager lips, which mapped each rose cavity and every peach coloured peak, his seeking, ravishing hands, and his finely skilled tongue and teeth soon brought Hermione to the brink once again.

Sensing the nearness of her second climax, Lucius shifted and turned until she was on top of him. "Take me in, my darling," he grunted huskily. "Show me what do you like, witch."

She did, of course. Boldly, the young lioness descended onto his impressive and quite eager shaft. The rapture called forth a dual cry from our lovers and, unable to hold off any longer, they both began to move. His strong hands were helping Hermione to keep the friction at that deliriously angelic level, when the heart is beating in a wild unrecognisable tempo, breathing ceases to be a necessity, vision is blurred, and all the rest of the senses are gathered in one throbbing ball buried inside.

It took only two precisely aimed strokes of Lucius' fingers and the fiery meteor inside his witch burst. She arched her back up to a dangerously steep angle and uttered a feral shriek. The wizard under her only managed to groan, "Divine", while watching the spectacular show in awe. When Hermione's breath calmed down slightly, the wizard once again shifted them, trapping her under his broadness. Now, when he was hovering over her in the powerful position with her legs draped over his shoulders, Lucius was poised and ready for his own release. Starting slowly, he soon was moving with urgent speed and strength, pushing deeply into the witch's molten, tight core. Lucius' eyes were locked on Hermione's and, at the highest point; he caught her mouth with his and helplessly groaned his release into her, dragging her with him into an abyss once again.

Oh well, my darlings, no comments here. Except, maybe – the tremendous power is hidden in properly performed foreplay.

**_AN – * Show Me Love/Tatu_**

**_Ahem, here it is. Please don't hang me, just write a review instead. ;)Thank you. Savva._**


	19. Chapter Eighteen

_****________**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank**** Glorioux, Lima Bean and Valady – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty.**_

**_To Be a Woman_**

_Chapter Eighteen_

**_Love—The_****_Malfoy Style_**

**_Wednesday Morning_**

Lucius woke up at dawn with his hands full of the young, supple, and deliciously fragrant body. That was an exceptionally pleasant awakening indeed, and, to be honest, the best in an awfully long time. Soft as a kitten, Hermione was peacefully curled in his arms. Her mahogany locks covered his chest like a silk throw. The wizard plunged his nose into the sea of tangled curls and inhaled deeply. She smelled of sex, him, and summer. _Oh yes_, she smelled of him, and the scent was exquisite on her.

Lucius tightened his grip around the witch, humming contentedly into her forehead, as erotic memories from a few hours earlier filled his mind. Last night, he made a notable effort to mark each and every inch of her skin as his own. He simply couldn't stop himself. She awoke his primal instincts to claim, and who was he to resist such a powerful call.

He had long forgotten how it felt to have the young witch in his bed. However, he was reminded about it yesterday. Hermione had done it boldly and fiercely, in a true Gryffindor manner so to speak. Now, he was convinced that he would not be able to forget. This morning, the thought of life without the silky softness of Hermione's young skin under his palms, or without the thrilling willingness of her pliant flesh seemed unbearable. He yearned for her unquenchable eagerness and insatiableness already. Heck! He needed her, all of her**_—_**her brown eyes, her wild hair, her scent, her stubbornness, her wittiness, the purity of her thoughts, everything. She was his newly found fountain of youth**_—_**_his_ _and his_ _only_, _his witch, his future wife, his new Lady Malfoy._

_Merlin, she was divine_ _last night_, groaned Lucius, and his fingertips ventured down, tracing the soft, smooth lines of Hermione's back. Slowly, his fingers crept toward her bum, until he had his palm resting right on the plump cheek. Lucius tenderly snaked his other hand around her waist and sighed, _there,_ _the perfect position to meet the sunrise_.

As bright orange beams enthusiastically streamed into the room, Lucius suddenly remembered Hermione's habitual trips to the beach the past four mornings. "Arghh," he growled. Finally, _finally, _he had the right to join the witch in her skinny-dipping but alas, there were no signs that she was planning to arise from her slumber anytime soon. _Damn._

For a short moment, the wizard considered the idea of wakening her. However, being previously married for a long time, Lucius knew all too well that thinking about it was one thing, but doing it was another!

_Oh well, _chuckled the wizard to himself, as a smug smile crept over his features. And really, my darlings, Lucius could blame only himself for keeping the witch up for half of the night_._ He had just utterly worn Hermione out. There _was_ life in the old fox yet, after all.

Lucius managed to snuggle even closer to the witch in his arms. He inhaled deeply once again, nuzzling her hair. And, with his nostrils full of Hermione's intimate scent, he lulled himself into sweet morning slumber.

A few hours later when Lucius opened his eyes, he was immediately captured by Hermione's chocolate irises, which were focused on him with an expression he couldn't quite place. She watched him silently with serious, thoughtful eyes. Under Hermione's intense gaze he, Lucius Malfoy, unexpectedly and inexplicably felt nervously unsure of himself. He remembered his ingenious plan, his lies, and his manipulations. All sorts of troubling speculations jostled in his mind. _What was hidden behind that chocolate depth? What was she thinking, while looking at him like that?_

Luckily, Lucius wasn't a wizard who can tolerate dangling in suspense for long. He needed the control of knowing what his witch was thinking**_—_**the sooner the better. Therefore, in one swift movement, he rolled Hermione over and, keeping her pinned firmly beneath him, asked, "Any regrets, witch?"

Hermione, who giggled and squeaked during the whole manoeuvre, smiled and whispered right into his lips, "Wait, let me think." Then, after a second, she added with a sultry smile, "No, I don't think so, didn't find any, my Lord."

Inwardly letting out a sigh of relief, Lucius arched a single eyebrow at her and smirked, all his foolish doubts evaporating rather quickly. _It was an extremely_ _preposterous notion indeed, a moment of weakness. How could he doubt himself, even for a minute?_

"Splendid," he whispered thickly against her plump lips, which were still swollen after his previous night's assault. "A light morning entertainment is in order then, my Lady," he murmured. "Spread your legs, my dear." His mouth caught hers in a demanding kiss, and his fingers ventured under the silk sheets, in order to have their wicked way with her.

**_Thursday Afternoon_**

As the week progressed, the wizard's ardour for the witch grew more and more powerful, becoming all encompassing, almost uncontrollable. On Thursday, Lucius at last had his long awaited morning swim with Hermione. It was incredible. Hand in hand, they walked to the beach. Awestruck, he watched his siren entering the glowing at dawn Adriatic. When she turned and beckoned him to follow, entranced by the sight, he obliged quite eagerly. The moment the warm waves began to wash over his shoulders, she straddled him and circled her long arms around his neck, grinding into him with fervour. The sensuous way the young temptress grated her nipples, tightly beaded from the Adriatic waters against his chest, caused him to go utterly wild. First, he hungrily ravished her on the beach, and then for a long while inside the cottage, leaving them breathless and pleasantly exhausted in the tangled heap of limbs and silk bedcovers.

Even now, after dinner, while our lovers lay intertwined in the hammock, basking in the afternoon sun, he still could feel the succulent taste of Hermione's skin mixed with the sea salt on his tongue.

Earlier, during the meal, it was decided they would go back to England on Saturday morning. Their impending return brought up the topic of the Ministry, Hermione's career, and her plans on the political field. When Lucius asked her why she decided to venture into politics in the first place, she fell silent for a minute. The answer that followed surprised him quite a lot.

"For Harry, I decided to do this because of him," she muttered softly. "Not only because of him of course, but still…" Hermione traced off, watching the sky, her eyes suddenly watery.

"I never said this to anyone, but I think Harry's death was my fault." One tiny tear made its way from the corner of her eye.

Lucius frowned, trying to understand, to find some sense in her words. If he remembered correctly, some stray Muggle, in some Muggle shop, had killed Potter. Lucius was beyond puzzled by Hermione's cryptic revelation. "What are you talking about, Hermione? How it could be possibly your fault? Explain, my dear, because right now you are not making any sense."

Hermione kept her chocolate eyes focused on the sky. "The day Harry was shot, we had lunched together. I," Hermione paused for a second and turned her tear-streaked face to Lucius, "it had been close to my time of the month, and I'd had this weird craving. I had been craving a specific Muggle snack. Agh, it is so stupid, I am so stupid!"

At this point, Lucius felt even more confused. "Your time of the month," he repeated bewildered. "What Muggle snack?"

"Crisps, I had wanted crisps. I had told Harry over lunch that I would kill for the bag of crisps right now, and we laughed. He had promised to get them for me. It had been a joke; I hadn't meant it." Hermione pressed her face into Lucius shirt and began to sob quietly.

It took a few minutes for Lucius to connect all the dots in his mind.

"I think it's my fault entirely," softly sobbed Hermione in to his chest.

"Hush, my darling, don't talk nonsense, please. You had nothing to do with it. It was fate's cruel joke. You know it as well as I do. Stop burdening yourself with this immediately, once and for all. I will not tolerate this silliness, witch." And he tilted her face to him, covering her salty skin with kisses.

"Potter's death was not your fault. You should've known better than blame it on yourself." Lucius continued to murmur soothingly, still kissing her damp from tears face.

"One day you will be a great politician, my darling. You already are actually. I felt proud to be able to stand by your side that Thursday, to be the one who supported you. You were magnificent. And you'll become even more powerful, as you have all my skills, all my connections, all my Slytherin knowledge at your disposal. Remember that, witch. We will become invincible." Lucius' grey eyes came alive, as he could practically see their great future together. "The power couple," he whispered under his breath.

He nibbled at her lips, and she opened them for him. His hands caressed her warm softness with tenderness. Gradually, her sobs turned into weak whimpers and then, stopped altogether. Soon, gentle touches became passionate; kisses deepened, and low, guttural moans filled the air.

**_Friday Evening._**

Friday morning met them with rain, giving our lovers one more reason to stay in bed until noon. When they finally made it outside of the cottage, the air was fragrant and heavy with humidity. Azure waves turned to darker, stormier shades of blue, their previous peacefulness entirely forgotten. The actual storm was yet to come later that night, and the sensation of the apprehensive expectancy in the nature around them was palpable and troubling.

Somehow, the stormy atmosphere unsettled Lucius more than he cared to admit. The level of his agitation annoyed him, even though he knew precisely the reason for his internal turmoil. It was their last day in Italy. Tomorrow they were set to return to England, and yet, he had not managed to put his ring on Hermione's finger**. **He hadn't even said the _words_ to the witch.

You see, my darlings, Lucius Malfoy had never done it before. With Narcissa, their parents had dealt with everything. After all, their marriage had been a business transaction first and foremost. However, this time it was the wizard's very own personal project.

Since Tuesday, there had been enough moments of opportunity for Lucius to close the deal. He also was aware that once they were back in England, his chances would be substantially diminished. Thus, it was crucial to do it while they were still in Italy, and while Hermione was still in his arms with no one around to interfere.

Still, Lucius hesitated. Of course, he could tear the words of agreement from her during their passionate lovemaking. It would be easy, considering how wholeheartedly Hermione had been giving herself to him. Strangely, even though he had previously considered this route, it was now unacceptable. He didn't want to rip it from her, when she was climaxing in his arms. No, he no longer considered this type of manipulation satisfactory. He wanted, and probably rather stupidly so, for Hermione to accept his proposal when she was calm and coherent, perhaps over dinner or during one of their talks. He needed to know that she would understand the consequences of her decision, the true meaning of '_yes_'. It _was_ quite an asinine notion, of course, knowing how he got her in his arms in the first place, but Lucius had set his mind and waited rather stubbornly for what seemed to be the right moment.

It was already late in the afternoon when they settled down in the cottage's living room**.**Dinner had been lovely. Fabio was such a talented and creative cook. The storm outside had finally peaked, and the wind was forcing the small cottage to squeak and creak after each powerful blow. The air inside was warm and humid, setting the mood to a **s**weet mellowness.

Hermione half sat, half lay in one of the armchairs reading a book she unsurprisingly managed to find even here in Italy, at Malfoy's bachelor shelter. Lucius sat in the second armchair, facing the witch and watching her intently. He could feel almost physically that time was of the essence. Unwavering, the minutes of their time together were disappearing into oblivion. The ring in the pocket of his trousers was burning against his thigh. It was now or never. And _never_ meant his carefully thought out plan would go up the chimney in smoke.

His grey eyes were focused on Hermione, as he leisurely sipped his wine. His outside demeanour was as calm as ever, while his mind was going into overdrive and his heart thudded and throbbed painfully. _Bugger_, cursed the wizard inwardly. He was not supposed to turn into this kind of crumbling and love-stricken dolt, and yet, here he was**_—_**helplessly sitting beside the witch, with the Malfoy ring in his pocket and with sweaty palms.

"Pathetic," hissed Lucius under his breath.

The sound of his displeasure with himself caught Hermione's attention, and she lifted her face to him. "Did you say something?" Her chocolate gaze slid over his unbuttoned shirt, and she smiled warmly, as a light-rosy blush instantly bloomed on her cheeks. A sudden movement caused her curls to fall on her face. A few mischievous locks against her nose caused Hermione to sneeze, once, twice. By the third time, she began to giggle, and Lucius was forced to smirk as well. She did sneeze rather cutely.

"You are sneezing just like a little kitten, do you know that. Tsk, tsk, tsk, and here I am, thinking that I tamed myself a true lioness, when in reality I ended up with a little Kneazle at best." Hermione's laughter lit up Lucius' gloomy mood just a notch. Smirking, he patted his lap and murmured, "Come here, my little feline. Let me scratch you behind the ear. You'll love it."

Hermione put her book away and walked to him. Settling on his lap and sneaking her soft, warm palms under his shirt, she whispered daringly into his ear, "I will purr for you, if you do it right."

Reciprocating, Lucius unbuttoned the front of her dress and cupped her silk covered breast. "Sultry, little minx, I know exactly how to make you purr for me." Then he kissed her, filling the kiss with all his recent concerns and desires just as the air surrounding them was filled with humidity. Momentarily, it seemed to Lucius that he was foolishly trying to convey way too much in one kiss.

When he finally allowed them to part, Hermione was left breathless. Sure enough, the clever girl in his lap sensed his uneasiness. She glanced thoughtfully into Lucius' eyes, evidently confused by the stark contrast between his playful remarks, the passionate eagerness of his lips and the seriousness of his gaze. She watched him with wide and suddenly guarded eyes, worrying her lower lip and looking extremely fragile and vulnerable. _Oh yes_, remembered Lucius, _Hermione Granger had her own demons and insecurities to fight,_ q_uite a few of which were brought to the surface by his dear friend Severus._

Lucius finally felt it. Undoubtedly this was the right time. Thus, without further ado, he whispered against her lips in his velvety baritone, "I have a question for you, Miss Hermione Granger. Will you be my wife?"

His eyes were locked on hers, his fingers already gripping the ring in his pocket tightly. Lucius felt how she froze in his arms, and, for a second, he thought that she would run. She didn't. She looked at him for a long, torturous minute, during which her eyes reflected the entire spectrum of emotions she was experiencing. Then, at last, she let her breath go and whispered, "Yes."

In the next instant, the ring was on her finger and the lovers, who were overwhelmed by the tremendous moment, were frantically tearing at each other's clothes. Even though a few stray concerns remained at the back of Lucius' mind, he left them there until another time. For now, he was very much otherwise occupied indeed.

**_Blond Locks, Blue Eyes, Big Troubles—Prelude_**

Meanwhile in England, Severus was spending his Friday night as usual. By this time, the sense of acute desperation that haunted him for the first few days after his break with Hermione had long gone. Our Potions master had settled into his comfortable routine, in which a certain amount of misery was expected and duly embraced.

He sat in his library reading a book. The customary glass of firewhisky rested on the side-table. Severus' demeanour was, if not content, then at least calm and relaxed. He had come to terms with his decision to let Hermione go and proceeded with his life without her. Or, at least, that what he forced himself to believe. As we are well aware, Severus Snape knew precisely how to do this. It wasn't his first sacrifice after all.

Luckily, Casimir, who was giving Severus a hard time for most of the week, finally quieted down as well. This brought the wizard relief, because having the hysterical elf in the house had really begun to grate on his nerves.

The book in the wizard's hands was rather engaging. Nothing lulled Severus into peace better than a good Potion book. This particular one had been written many centuries ago and was his all-time favourite.

Murmuring in appreciation, Severus took a little sip of the firewhisky and eagerly turned the page. However, right at this moment, unusually wide-eyed Casimir popped up in the library and announced in his squeaky voice, "Lady Narcissa, Master."

The library's doors flew open, and a vision in blue appeared on the threshold. A light veil of white musk and vanilla immediately enveloped the room, making Severus dizzy and nervous at the same time. The woman who stood at the door was an epitome of classy elegance. Tall and thin, her blond locks were masterfully arranged around her pale face, and her cornflower blue eyes matched her robes perfectly. A soft smile played on her delicate coral lips as she rested her perfectly amicable gaze on our Potions master.

"Severus, I am so glad to see you. How are you, my dear?"

Removing her white gloves, she walked toward him, and the sound of her light steps filled the library. Severus was forced to stand quickly in order to greet the lady properly.

"Narcissa, what a surprise," muttered Severus. Perplexed by the sudden intrusion, he dutifully brushed his lips over the pale knuckled, aristocratic hand she gracefully presented. "Is something the matter?" he asked, facing her and still holding her hand in his.

"Ah, why Severus, maybe I just stopped by to see an old friend." Her pale fingers slid from his hold and traced his jaw line. Her fingertips lingered on his face for a moment, lightly patting his cheek.

When Severus silently arched his brow at her, she let out a soft, melodic laughter and said, "I see you are still the same, darling. You never cared much for polite conversation and proprieties, Severus. Very well then, would you be so kind and tell me where Lucius is? I need him quite urgently."

_AN: __**Here we go, my dear darlings. I hope this is still interesting. **_

_**I have a link to Narcissa Malfoy's image ( as I see her) in my profile. Please, check it out. **_

_**I am not sure if I should move the story to Hermione/Lucius for now. It doesn't really look logical to me because Severus **__**was **__**playing the front role in it for quite some time (sixteen chapters to be exact). Then again, I can see how it is troubling for the hard core Severus fans to have this story in the Hermione/Severus section. Unfortunately, FF . net is not providing the possibilities to put two main male characters into the summary. Thus for now, I probably move the story to Lumione, even though I do not know the ending yet.**_

_**I would love to hear your thoughts. Please.**_

_**Thank you. Savva.**_


	20. Chapter Nineteen

_****________**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank**** Glorioux, Lima Bean and Valady – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty.**_

**_To Be a Woman_**

_Chapter Nineteen_

**_Blond Locks, Blue Eyes, Big Troubles_**

"Very well then, would you be so kind and tell me where Lucius is? I need him quite urgently." Smiling politely, Narcissa waited patiently for Severus' response.

The wizard, on the other hand, barely managed to catch a sharp reply right before it could escape from his mouth. Huffing in annoyance at his reaction to Lucius' name, Severus paused and drew a supposedly calming breath. The powdery scent of vanilla and white musk immediately filled his nostrils, bringing on long forgotten memories. You see, my darlings, even in Hogwarts, Narcissa had never failed to make our snarky wizard uncomfortable in a decidedly odd way, in an all over warm and tingly way to be precise. There always had been something deeply unsettling in her masterfully showcased femininity.

Keeping his face blank, Severus contemplated his next move. As our Potions master wasn't even slightly inclined to explain the cause of the sudden termination of his friendship with Lucius, he was purposely dragging the suspense. By his prolonged silence, Severus hoped to draw out more information from the witch. He knew quite well that for the last seven years she had managed to avoid England altogether. Not that Severus could blame her for that. The war had marked and tainted everybody, and Narcissa was no exception. Thus, he was indeed rather intrigued by Narcissa's sudden reappearance.

As the pause continued, the witch's polite smile faltered ever so slightly, and with an elegant arch of her impeccably trimmed eyebrow she gently prompted, "I thought Friday night was your customary poker night with Lucius. Is it not anymore, Severus?"

"As you can certainly see, it is not." His reply sounded a bit more sarcastic than he intended. Severus himself began to wonder where Lucius had gone, and all kinds of suspicions began to gnaw at his insides. "I assume – he isn't at the Manor, and Wrinkly isn't cooperating, right?"

Narcissa nodded, not getting into any details, however. Now, he was practically certain that Lucius had gone somewhere with Hermione, and disturbing images of them together bolted thorough his mind. Being very much aware of Narcissa's inquisitive gaze, carefully noting his every move and expression, Severus deftly turned the tables. "Pray tell, Narcissa, what is so urgent? If I remember correctly, you haven't been exactly on friendly terms with Lucius after the divorce."

With a sigh and a hint of weariness in her perfectly articulate speech, she explained, "Draco's wife is pregnant, Severus. The baby is due any moment now. It's a boy, the new Malfoy heir."

When Severus shot her an incredulous look, she nodded again, "Yes, yes, I am sure you had heard about the French girl Draco had been living with for the last three years. Her name is Margot. They married in a private civil ceremony a year ago." The witch drew a heavy sigh, looking worried and vulnerable. Severus regarded her thoughtfully and gestured for her to sit down. When she settled in one of the armchairs, he sat near her.

"As you know, Draco has cut off all communications with Lucius. He, however, has kept me informed about his whereabouts all this time. I had met Margot two years ago. She is a lovely enough girl, very French…"

_Very French._ Severus couldn't help but smirk at this mere hint of her discontentment with Draco's choice, which was demonstrated in authentically Malfoy manner.

"… a divorcee," Narcissa continued, "and only slightly older than Draco. When they had decided to marry, I had been trying to make him reconsider his attitude toward Lucius. Of course, it had been all for naught. You know the Malfoys, Severus. They all are stubborn to the core."

Narcissa drew another heavy sigh and gently touched Severus' hand. "This situation probably had been my fault. I shouldn't have showed my disappointment with Lucius in front of Draco."

"Nonsense. Draco wasn't exactly a child when you divorced Lucius, Narcissa. By that time, he was an adult, fully capable of having his own opinions and making his own decisions. I think that in this particular case Lucius reaped exactly what he had sown," murmured the Potions master.

"You are probably right, Severus, as always. However, with the baby due to be born any minute, I want them to reconnect again. The baby will be a Malfoy, and he will need to know his roots and his grandfather." The bright blue irises focused on Severus again, and Narcissa continued, "Tell me, Severus, what happened between you two? Are the rumours true? Did you and Lucius really clash over Hermione Granger?"

Severus only managed to growl in exasperation. _Shit_, he cursed inwardly, _damn this tight-knit society, where everybody knows everything._

"I see, darling. There is nothing wrong in seeking a little bit of happiness, Severus." A soft hand covered his callused one for a few seconds, and a knowing smile touched her features. A moment later Narcissa stood up, "Please forgive me for the intrusion. I'll be going now. I don't want to miss the birth of my grandson."

The wizard attempted to stand up, but the slender hand gently patted his shoulder. "That's alright, dear. I am certain I can find my way out. If anything, your little yellow-eyed elf will help me." The sound of her light steps filled his library once again. Already near the door, Narcissa turned to him and said, "Do come for tea sometime, Severus. Draco will be happy to see you; they will be staying with me for a while. And, I am always happy to see you as well." The next minute she was gone, leaving only a cloud of an intoxicating fragrance.

Severus slumped in his armchair as all sort of suspicions, doubts and questions jostled in his head, laced with fury at Lucius and even more at himself. The lingering scent of vanilla and musk in the air, however, brought one intriguing thought to the forefront of our Potions master's mind.

_Did Narcissa just make a pass at me? Hmm…_

**_Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow*_**

Saturday morning in Italy was filled with sweet, languidly paced lovemaking. The urgent need our lovers had yesterday turned into a slow burning desire.

Luckily, by dawn, the storm was long gone, and the Adriatic welcomed them into its warm, azure waters for the last time before their return to England. Their nude bodies glowed enticingly in the sun's first rays, and their limbs grazed sensually against each other. Following intricate patterns, their lips and tongues slowly traced wet, salty trails that water drew on their skin. There was no rush, no impatient foreplay to skip. Every moment was stretched and every second was savoured thoroughly.

During breakfast, they sat hip to hip, not willing to allow even an inch of a distance between them. Lucius' grey gaze was fixed on Hermione as if his eyes just couldn't get enough of her. _I am behaving like a pathetic, lovesick adolescence, and I bloody love it,_smirked the wizard to himself, while he was shifting even closer to her.

Listening to the witch's happy chirping, thoughtfully watching her animated face, he kept his palm on her round knee. The feel of her smooth, warm skin under his hand was calming, her soft murmuring reassuring. And today Lucius needed exactly that because, my dear darlings, from the moment our wizard opened his eyes in the morning, he couldn't shake off the feeling of an impending loss.

Even though he was truly looking forward to their return to England, and even more so to their future life together, the knowledge that they would not be able to relive those precious, magical moments they had spent here saddened him. Everything that transpired between them in Italy – the carnival, their first time, their morning swims, his witch's little sneezes, her emotional '_yes'_– all of it would remain in this little cottage forever. That sadness caused Lucius' heart to swell in his chest – a rare response for him.

Fighting with his misbehaving heart, and trying to find his missing composure, Lucius turned his attention to the ring on Hermione's finger, noticing with satisfaction how well the Malfoy ring looked on her. Covering her small hand with his, he let his mind venture further in the future. The thoughts about wedding arrangements, and new political opportunities, flowed into his head in brightly coloured streams. _Oh, yes_, their happily-ever-after looked iridescent.

Alas, Lucius' basking in his candied dreams didn't last long. As usual, along with those dreams, his keen mind brought to the surface of his consciousness yesterday's worries and doubts. Some of them, he considered mere hiccups, which didn't seriously alarm our beloved white peacock.

First hiccup, so to speak, was Severus, and Lucius genuinely believed that he did eliminate that problem by putting his ring on Hermione's finger and receiving her _'yes'._In wholeheartedness, of which he was positively sure, she was a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake. The second issue was public opinion. The negative reaction of the crowd could be uncomfortable for Hermione, and that was unacceptable. His lady should always be able to keep her head high. Thus, he would see to it – public opinion could be bought just like many other things.

His main concern, however, remained unresolved. He knew quite well, that his lies, manipulations, and underhanded ways that had allowed him to lure Hermione into his arms wouldn't stay hidden forever. And _if _or _when _Hermione found out about his role in her first presentation's fiasco or about his talk with Severus, there would be no mercy for him. His little lioness wouldn't tolerate secrets and games. The only solution Lucius saw was to tell Hermione at least the partial truth. Otherwise, any accidental discoveries could ruin everything between them. He could easily lose his witch over that.

"No," he growled and squeezed Hermione's hand.

The witch just finished her fruit salad and turned to him with a smile. "What is it, Lucius?" Her bright, chocolate eyes focused on him.

"No, you ate all the salad, you little sybarite, and didn't leave even one piece of a melon for me. How could you?" murmured Lucius, covering his concerns with mock outrage.

Hermione giggled, "I did leave a little bit for you. Here." Not bothering with the spoon, she gathered the last pieces of fruits and began to hand-feed her lover. That led to laughter and kissing, which led to hot, farewell sex on the cottage's dining table.

Around a quarter to two, they were finally clothed and ready to leave. By then, Lucius reached a decision that he would talk to Hermione the moment they arrived at the Manor. He simply couldn't bring himself to ruin their last moments in Italy. He promised himself to deal with it in England.

When the cottage's clock chimed two times, after giving his last instructions to Fabio, Lucius walked into the living room. Hermione stood by the window, looking at the beach wistfully. He wound his arm around her waist and whispered, "Ready?"

"Yes," she replied with a sigh. Turning to face him, Hermione let out a breathy, "Kiss me."

He did, eagerly so. Moments later, a Portkey took the couple, who were still kissing, back to the foggy island and reality.

**_Comeuppance_**

They landed in the Manor's sitting room, and Wiltshire met them with its habitual greyish overcast beyond the Manor's monumental windows. The stark contrast between the warmth of Italy and the refreshing crispness of the Manor's air made Lucius shiver. His hold on Hermione tightened as he instinctively drew her closer to him. He could clearly feel something looming over his head. _The talk,_he reminded himself_._Our Lucius Malfoy was many things, my darlings, but a coward he wasn't. So, he drew an inward sigh, braced himself and sprang into action.

Kissing Hermione's curls, he chuckled at the fact that his little Kneazle was not at all in a hurry to untangle from his embrace. "Welcome home, my dear lady," he murmured playfully in his deep baritone.

Hermione gasped, and her eyes found his, the full-scaled consequences of her '_yes_' finally dawning on her. Smirking, he continued, "It's your home now, Hermione." Taking advantage of her state of mind, Lucius manoeuvred the slightly dazed witch toward the settee.

"Mustn't we have an outrageously pompous ceremony first?" asked his witty kitten with a giggle, as she curled comfortably across his lap and snaked her fingers in his hair.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course, that we must. I, however, prefer you move to the Manor today. I do not see any point in procrastinating, Hermione." Lucius lowered his voice to a sensual whisper, and nibbling at Hermione's neck, asked, "Will you, my lady? Will you share my bed tonight?"

"Oh, well, I did say 'yes', didn't I," she whispered back in the same sensual manner, though a bit breathless. "Then I guess there is only one answer – I will, my Lord."

"That's my girl," purred Lucius and their lips met in another scorching kiss, the heat of which surely scared the hell out of those damned grey clouds and cold air.

"Hermione, I need to tell you something important, something you will most certainly not like," began Lucius the moment their mouths separated. "But before I do, I need to confess." He fixed his gaze on her and continued, "Hermione, I lo–"

The door to the sitting room flew open and unannounced Wrinkly appeared on the threshold, "Master Lucius, you are back. It is splendid." The elf paused for a minute and scanned Hermione's fingers. Noticing the ring and nodding to himself, he added with a slight bow, "Lady Hermione, welcome home." Turning his massive head back to Lucius, who was quite peeved by the interruption, the elf walked closer and presented his master with the silver tray with two letters on it. "Lady Narcissa comes to the Manor yesterday, Master. Lady leaves a letter for you and sends the owl just now. It says _urgent_."

"Narcissa," echoed Lucius in bewilderment and took the letters from the tray. His arm was still holding Hermione firmly on his lap, as if he were afraid that something could snatch her from him. For a minute, the wizard just looked at the letter and the note with elegantly written mark '_urgent_' on it.

The elf bowed once again and disappeared with a quiet pop.

After a short contemplation, Lucius reluctantly shifted the witch on to the settee, stood up and walked to the window. He opened the note first and read it. Then, more urgently, he tore open the letter.

Hermione, startled by his audible gasp and noticeably trembling fingers, sprang up and joined him by the window. "What is it, Lucius? What happened?"

"I am a grandfather, Hermione. Draco's son, Scorpius, was born today at noon. They are at Narcissa's villa in France. Draco got married a year ago. The Malfoy heir was born an hour ago. They are waiting for me to meet my grandson." The wizard's speech was clipped, his voice was hoarse, and his eyes were filled with emotions.

A genuine, bright smile graced Hermione's face, as she embraced him, "That's wonderful, Lucius. You shall go to them now."

"Yes, I shall." Deeply engrossed in his thoughts, the wizard stepped back from her embrace and began to methodically pace the breadth of the sitting room. Suddenly, after three minutes of silent pacing, he stopped in front of the witch and took her hands in his, "Come with me. I want you to be there. Come."

Hermione began to shake her head even before he finished, "No, no, Lucius, it's not the right occasion."

"Will you wait for me then? Will you be here when I return, witch? There are issues we need to talk over. I need you to be here, Hermione." He kissed her, desperately seeking reassurance in her lips.

"Yes, yes, I will be here. I might go and gather some things from my flat while you are gone. Go, Lucius, your grandson awaits." And with one final caress, the wizard was gone.

When five hours later Lucius returned to the Manor, he was exhausted, overwhelmed, but happy. His main desire was to share his news with the little witch. With urgency, he called '_Hermione_' the moment he stepped out of the Floo. However, instead of Hermione, in front of him appeared Wrinkly. Once again, the elf held the silver tray with a letter.

"Lady Hermione goes out and never returns. She sends a letter instead," stated the elf.

With a dreadful sense of déjà vu, Lucius took the letter.

_Dear Lucius,_

_I just had a reality check thanks to a certain friend who came by and opened my eyes on some facts. I must admit that not all of them were entirely new for me. Some of the aspects I actually knew all along. I just chose to ignore them, I guess. Oh well, gravity caught up with me eventually. You played your game well, Lucius. You had me fooled and utterly smitten. I fell for you. And oh Merlin, did I fall hard…_

_Congratulations… and good-bye._

_HG_

_PS. Please do not try to contact me. I need time to think._

"No," hissed the wizard through his clenched teeth. "No," he growled louder, while his fist crushed an innocent, century-old statuette.

Next, he tried to Floo to Hermione's flat. He was blasted out of course. After the wizard landed on his living room rug in the most undignified manner, for the next few hours, the Manor was filled with sounds of violent destruction. I'll just say that poor Wrinkly had quite a lot to fix in the morning.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention. One little, yellow-eyed elf was smirking with happiness and pride this evening. "Casimir is no dimwit," triumphantly croaked the little creature to himself, while he drank his jasmine tea in his tiny room.

***_Shakespeare/Romeo and Juliet Act 2, scene 2, 176–185_**

_**Sorry, sorry, my dear darlings. This chapter was almost ready last Saturday... BUT, then, snow storm, power outages and 'effing' shingles happened. So, here we are, a week later. Sorry again.**_

_**Please, please review. Thank you. Savva.**_


	21. Chapter Twenty

_****__****________**I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank**** Glorioux, Lima Bean and Valady – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty.**_

To Be a Woman

_Chapter Twenty_

**_Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone*_**

"No!" shouted the wizard as he delivered a final, powerful and altogether useless kick to his Floo's unyielding marble mantel.

It took only a moment for him to be wholly consumed by a violent rage. All that followed was engulfed in its blinding, white-hot haze. For hours, Lucius surged through the Manor like a roaring, furious wave of destruction, sweeping and destroying everything in his way, until at last, he reached his private chamber. Blasting the door out of the way and fully intending to resume his violent destruction, he stepped inside. However, as his eyes came upon his silk covered bed, he suddenly came to a halt.

His bed was the epitome of luxury – finely carved cherry headboard, elegantly draped and pillowed with satins and silks. And yet, its enticing, inviting softness was spoiled by its utter emptiness. That gaping emptiness lashed at Lucius, freezing him with the ice-cold reality – he was alone. Violent shivers began to prickle down his spine, and he drew a shuddered breath. The rage that was coursing through his veins abated, robbing his body of its destructive force and leaving behind only exhaustion and despair.

With difficulty, Lucius forced himself to walk further into the chamber. Standing in the middle of the room, he couldn't tear his eyes from the bed. There, at that moment, an epiphany struck him. He hated this – this void, this black hole of nothingness around him. He hated his empty Manor, his empty life and his empty heart. For seven years, he was alone, and he bloody loathed every shitty minute of it. There, in front of him, in all its abominable glory, stood his reality – _his empty bed_. In mere seconds, his ingenious plan, all his manipulations and games, all his reasoning about an heir, connections, and power – all of it turned into complete and utter bullshit.

Somewhere along the way, while Lucius was spinning his diaphanous web and making his intricate moves, he fell in love with the bright-eyed, witty witch. He didn't notice how her constant cooing, her warm smiles and girlish giggles, became a part of his world. Neither did he notice how easily she managed to warm his cool heart and how entirely she filled the emptiness around him. Little by little, indiscernibly, she changed him into a believer**, **and taught him to love.

"Damn it!" cursed the wizard. He had come so close to a second chance for his happily-ever-after. He was almost there, and he had managed to ruin everything. A patch of paper, a short note of only ten lines was all that was left. Everything else had burned to ash or turned to dust, and he was at fault... again.

Sinking into the armchair and gazing with disgust at his bed, Lucius took Hermione's letter from his pocket. The crumpled parchment, which he almost destroyed in his fury, still held Hermione's youthful, summery scent. As the light fragrance reached his nostrils, he covered his face with his palms and groaned helplessly. He needed more than the lingering presence in the air. His heart, his mind, his body and every fibre of his being yearned for her. There just had to be a way to bring his little witch back.

_The ring, _bolted through his mind. _She didn't send back the ring!_

"Wrinkly!" called Lucius with urgency. Unable to remain calm, he stood up and began to pace the room nervously as he waited for his servant to come. When the elf finally appeared on the threshold, Lucius asked, "Did Hermione send anything else except the letter?"

"No Master, Lady Hermione sends the letter, nothing else," the elf shook his head. "Nothing else, Master."

"Good. On your way now." Lucius gestured to his house-elf to leave. The elf bowed and left.

Lucius sat down and looked at the parchment again. For a few moments, he blankly stared at Hermione's neat handwriting. When at last he gathered enough composure to reread the letter, he carefully considered every word. The fact that Hermione didn't send back the ring did stir a shadow of hope in his soul, as did her note's last phrase."_Time to think_"_, _muttered Lucius. Maybe, there still was some way to solve this.

However, as Lucius' eyes returned to the place where a _'certain friend' _was mentioned, he growled. There was no doubt in his mind who that _certain friend _was. "Severus," hissed the blond wizard dangerously as he sprang up. A moment later, he Disapparated to face his one time friend.

**_Camaraderie_**

It was quarter after eleven. Severus Snape sat in his library and for the second evening tried to read his beloved, vintage book.

Narcissa's visit the night before had evoked an array of troubled thoughts and emotions in our Potions master. It had taken him a considerable part of Friday night and Saturday morning just to get rid of most of them, to sort out the rest, and return to his usual, well-composed self. Although, Severus had to admit that disturbing pictures of Hermione with Lucius still occasionally flashed in his mind. Perhaps, mused the wizard as he let his eyes slide over the library's bookshelves, it would have been beneficial for him to accept Narcissa's invitation. He trusted that the blonde witch would undoubtedly be able to dash those unsanctioned images and abhorrent jealousy from his mind.

_Yes_, decided Severus, _I will owl Narcissa sometimes next week._ Satisfied with his idea, he returned his attention to the old book's weathered pages.

Alas, a quiet evening with a book wasn't destined to happen. A loud sound of Apparition forced Severus to close the book urgently and spring up from the armchair. "Oh, bollocks, what now?" he growled. After the previous night's surprise visitor, Severus honestly didn't know what else to expect. He wasn't left wondering for too long though, because in the next instant a furious, and uncharacteristically dishevelled, Lucius Malfoy invaded his library.

"Where is she?" shouted the blond wizard, bursting across the library's threshold, and advancing toward Severus with alarming speed.

His violent facial expression didn't bear anything pleasant and thus, our Potions master duelling skills kicked in instantly. His wand flew into his hand automatically, as he took a defensive stance and trained it on the intruder. However, Lucius all but ignored the piece of wood pointed at him and continued to move toward Severus, trying to get a hold of his throat. He looked wild, positively mad. His customary inscrutable, calm demeanour was replaced with an enraged, twisted grimace. "Where is she?" he shouted. "Is she here with you? I'll kill you, you bastard!"

The only thought that came to Severus' mind at the sight was that his ex-friend had totally lost his mind. There was no other explanation for this sudden, unprovoked and thoroughly preposterous assault. Not seeing any other options, Severus blasted the crazy wizard into the opposite wall with a non-verbal spell. However, that didn't stop Lucius, and a moment later he was on Severus again, yelling and ripping his shirt's collar.

This time, the Potions master lost his patience and shouted back, "For Merlin's sake, who are you talking about, Lucius? There is no one here, so get off me, you bloody idiot!"

That had finally done it. Lucius released Severus' shirt and stepped back. An angry red colour slowly drew from his face, as an understanding dawned on him. With a low groan, he sank into the nearest armchair. "Hermione," whispered Lucius hoarsely, "she is here with you, is she not?" His red-rimmed eyes focused on black haired wizard.

Severus regarded his ex-friend carefully. He hadn't seen him in such distress for years, since Draco's abrupt departure, to be precise. Thoughtfully, he took in Lucius' appearance – his tangled hair, his bloodshot eyes, his rumpled clothes. Severus could assume a nasty case of jealousy, of course. Yet, there was something else in his face, something more. _Desperation,_ identified Severus. _Oh, yes_, everything became crystal clear. His overly crafty and sly fellow Slytherin had fallen into his own trap. Lucius Malfoy had fallen in love.

Believe me, my dear readers that it took quite a lot of our Potions master's self-control not to laugh openly, although a pleased smirk still made its way to his thin lips. _Welcome to the club, Lucius, _thought Severus snidely.

There, at that moment, our Potions master could have had his ultimate revenge. The situation was perfect, brilliant even. It was obvious that something went awry in the grand manipulator's plan. Oh, it would have been only too easy – to kick Lucius' in the guts now, to finish him off with a few strategically delivered blows. They even were already on his tongue's tip, those witty insults. He almost said them, almost…

Severus didn't know what caused him to stop. Was it the pained, utterly lost look in Lucius' grey eyes? Perhaps it was his rumpled shirt with a few gaping holes and missing buttons. Severus shivered involuntarily. There was something eerie in those missing buttons, something so awfully unlike Lucius. Maybe, it was those dark shadows under Lucius' eyes. But the sharp, hurtful words never left his mouth. Instead, Severus sat down and said calmly, "She is not here, Lucius. The last time I saw Hermione was at her last presentation at the Manor."

The blond wizard uttered a low, guttural moan and covered his face with his hands.

"What happened?" asked Severus.

Lucius fished the crumpled parchment from his pocket and gave it to him. Severus glanced at the note, recognising Hermione's hand immediately. He quickly read the short ten lines and refocused his attention on Lucius. "Do you love her?" he asked him, remembering only all too clearly how Lucius had tauntingly asked him the same question a mere ten days ago.

Lucius frowned and his lucid eyes narrowed with suspicion, but after a short contemplation, he rasped, "Yes," and fell silent for a while. After a few minutes, he began in a hoarse mutter again, "She said _yes__._Severus. I asked her to marry me, and she said _yes. _I took her to Italy. Everything was perfect, perfect. She is gone now, and I cannot draw a breath without thinking of her. I want her back, Severus. I need Hermione. I love her, yes, I love her. Help me, Severus. You need to help me."

Even though Severus did acknowledge that the blond wizard was inadequate at the moment, these words still forced him to jump up as anger began to rise in his heart. "Have you gone completely mad, Lucius? Do you truly believe that I will help you, after you undertook nefarious efforts to steal her from me, you, slimy, arrogant git?" he hissed, menacingly into Lucius' face.

Lucius, however, didn't even flinch. He just simply nodded and said, "Yes." Then he drew a heavy sigh and continued, "I love her, Severus. Please, help me to get her back. I will beg, if you want me to do so. Nothing matters, Severus. I have no pride left. I cannot fail for the second time."

Severus uttered an exasperated huff, muttered, "Why I am not surprised?" and sank back into the armchair. For a while, the two wizards sat quietly, both deeply engulfed in their thoughts. "Did you try to contact Hermione?" Severus finally broke the silence with a question.

"She blocked her Floo against me. I imagine that she warded her flat against me as well. I wonder who that _friend_ she mentioned in the letter could be. I was sure it was you, Severus." A dangerous fire lit up Lucius' face. "Is there someone else?"

Severus chuckled and answered, "I think I know exactly who that _certain friend_ is, Lucius." He stood up and called, "Casimir."

Not even a second later, a skittish looking house-elf appeared on the threshold. "Master calls Casimir?"

"Yes, Casimir, I did. Tell me, when was the last time you saw Hermione?"

Casimir fidgeted under the inquisitive glare of his Master but didn't answer.

"Answer me, Casimir. When was the last time you saw Hermione?"

"Today, Master. Casimir sees Hermione today," at last squeaked the elf, and began to twist his ear nervously.

With a roar, Lucius dashed toward the elf, his wand already in his hand, "You, stinking, little…"

"Lucius, stop. I won't be able to help you if you harm my elf. Though I am not quite sure who would harm who in that fight." That sarcastic remark stopped Lucius in his tracks, and Severus turned to his elf again. "I am extremely displeased with you, Casimir. You had no business meddling with humans' lives. I will decide later how to punish you, but for now, you will start with transporting Lucius to Hermione's flat. Is that clear?"

Casimir began in his squeaky voice, "But, Master–"

"If I was you, Casimir, I would stop talking now," dangerously growled Severus. "Lucius, are you ready? Casimir will go with you. I think his presence might be helpful in your quest."

Lucius stepped closer to Casimir, but paused and faced Severus. "We need to go together, Severus. You love her as well. I know that. Hermione might still love you. We need to give her a choice."

Severus arched his eyebrow, "And if the witch chooses me, Lucius, what will you do then?"

Lucius' breath hitched, and his face turned ashen. But he continued, "Then that would be that. I need to know, Severus. We need to go together. Please."

Seriously doubting his blond friend's preparedness to give up that easily, Severus crossed his arms on his chest and kept his face blank. He needed a minute to think. Slowly, his whole affair with Hermione flowed in front of his eyes. "Very well, Lucius." Severus nodded to his servant. Casimir took their hands in his little, wrinkly ones, and a moment later two wizards and the elf disappeared.

**_He Loves Me… He Loves Me Not…_**

For the last half an hour, Hermione had been staring at Lucius' ring. She was so bloody angry with the man, and yet, she just couldn't bring herself to take the blasted thing off her finger. Thus, the ring stayed and was now arrogantly winking at her with its sparkly, emerald eye.

Hermione drew an exhausted sigh. Earlier today, she had felt so content, so at peace with her decision to marry Lucius. It had felt right, and she simply refused to overanalyse the situation. Oh well, my dear readers, we know quite well that life had done it for her. This time, it had chosen Casimir as its tool.

Troubles had started even before Severus' elf had appeared in Hermione's flat. There had been two letters from Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for Hermione in her mail. One of them was a formal notification from the Minister, in which she was informed about the overwhelming success of her initiative. The following letter was an informal one, in which the wizard had taken upon himself to suggest that now, as she had become a political figure, she should choose her acquaintances more carefully. Sure enough, that had caused the witch to fume instantly, and the letter had been crumpled and thrown into the wastebasket rather violently.

Of course, that had been only the beginning. A short while later Casimir had surprised Hermione by his sudden appearance in her living room. Apparently, the prudent creature had known about her return due to the charms he had put on her flat. The little elf had begun his longwinded tale by apologising for his master's behaviour.

At first, after Hermione had listened to Casimir's story and had looked at the memories the little elf was only too happy to show her, she had become livid. An acid ire had filled her up to the gills, ruining, burning out the wonderful, magical feeling of happiness. She had felt betrayed, manipulated, used. And so, she had acted hastily. On a whim, she had written a letter and had blocked the Floo. However now, hours later, Casimir was long gone, and our witch couldn't help but keep thinking about Lucius, Severus, their actions and her feelings. Everything was so devilishly tangled and confusing – it was maddening.

Her wrath was aimed at both wizards. Lucius, of course, remained a primary target because of his underhanded ways. He had lured her to him with his cunning manoeuvres and had built their relationship on lies. Even so, even in the midst of her rage, Hermione couldn't forget their moments together. The images kept popping up in her head – Lucius listening to her, Lucius explaining to her the hidden undercurrents of politics and so on. Ironically, he had been the cause of her first presentation's fiasco, and he was the reason that she was so much stronger and knew so much more about politics now. Then, there were fresh and vivid memories from Italy. She couldn't just erase from her mind their talks, their laughs, the way he had treated her there, the way his lips had trembled when he had asked her to marry him. For Merlin's sake, the man had almost confessed his love to her today. Was it all a lie? Hermione drew another heavy sigh – the blond snake did actually manage to slither under her skin.

On the other side of the coin, there was Severus. And, oh God, was she mad at him as well. He didn't lie, nor did he manipulate. Still, Hermione just couldn't understand the wizard. If he truly loved her – as Casimir had been trying to convince her – why had he given her up so easily? Why hadn't he been there for her, by her side? Why hadn't he confessed his love to her? Why hadn't he fought for her? Why had he had instead chosen to cruelly hurt her? Their romantic moments had been passionate, scorching hot, and had never failed to leave her breathless. However, there had been a complete, and extremely infuriating, lack of understanding beyond the bedroom. He had never made it clear how he had felt about her. He had never told her whether he loved her or not, whether he saw a future with her.

_Ughh, _growled Hermione. She felt so utterly lost and conflicted about those two wizards. Maybe she just should forget all about them and find herself a fine young bloke. Hermione gazed at the ring on her finger again. She needed to think, and she needed to think hard. She had to decide what she wanted, whom she wanted, and whom she truly loved. This was paramount.

A loud, violent crack cut short Hermione's preoccupation. She lifted her head and exclaimed in surprise, "Casimir!" Then, somewhat hysterically, she added, "What on Earth are you two doing here?"

* **_Bill Withers/Ain't No Sunshine_**

_**Here we go my darlings. We finally arrived to a pivotal moment of our story. Our girl will need to decide… You are welcome to help her to do so – a new poll is on my profile.**_

_**Please review, my darlings. Thank you. Savva.**_


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**____****__****________****I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters; J. K. Rowling does. In addition, I do not make any profit from this fanfiction. I would like to thank**** Glorioux, Lima Bean and Valady – my brilliant betas. A special thanks goes also to my consultant Ignaty.**

**_To Be a Woman_**

_Chapter Twenty One_

**_How Do You Take Your Tea? Milk and Sugar, Please…_**

_How Do You Like Your Man? Persuasive and Persistent, Please…_

A loud, sharp crack startled Hermione. She instinctively jerked her head only to be met by unblinking, yellow eyes fixed upon her. "Casimir!" she exclaimed, and hysterical thoughts immediately flooded her mind. What else could Severus' elf possibly want from her? She clearly wasn't ready for more drama in her life. A millisecond later, however, she noticed that the elf wasn't the only visitor. Right in the middle of the room, filling almost the entire space by their quite demanding presence, stood the very wizards over whom Hermione had been agonizing for the last few hours. Caught completely off guard by their sudden appearance in her flat, she muttered in bewilderment, "What on Earth are you two doing here?"

As if in a trance, the trio just stood there, frozen, and staring at her. None of the three intruders deemed it necessary to answer her question, and for a while, the only sounds in the room were their breathing and the wall clock's rhythmic ticking.

Feeling the ire once again raising in her heart, Hermione used the pause to draw a calming breath. She regarded both wizards thoughtfully, taking in Severus' composed demeanour and Lucius' horrible state of dishevelment—never was the contrast between the two so stark. One had lost all his elegant indifference, turning into a quaking ball of open nerves, while the other still resembled a cool marble pillar. The only thing that united them at that moment was the burning fire in their eyes. She had to admit though that intensity of Lucius' grey gaze penetrated her skin almost literally, causing her heart to pump the blood through her veins in a feverish tempo.

An indefinite number of minutes passed in absolute stillness. At last, Casmir decided to make a move, effectively breaching the silence by his feet's noisy scraping over the wooden floor. The little elf walked behind Severus, touching his master's elbow in the process, as if encouraging him to act. Surprisingly, the elf's nudging manoeuvre had worked, because the next second Severus cleared his throat and spoke. "Miss—".

Hermione frowned and quickly opened her mouth to interrupt. Casimir, however, was quicker. He pulled his master's sleeve forcefully, and Severus, realizing his mistake, hastily corrected himself. "Hermione," he began again in his deep voice. His black eyes peered into hers gravely as he took three deliberate steps toward her. "Hermione, I need to apologize for my behaviour. The way I had treated you that day, after your presentation, was wrong."

The sound of her name leaving Severus' lips abruptly ended Lucius' trance, and the blond wizard jumped into action with urgency. Moving swiftly across the room toward Hermione and purposely cutting through Severus' path in the process, he blurted, his habitual drawl and finesse entirely forgotten, "Hermione, please, forgive me. I love you, witch. Please, let me explain myself."

With the two wizards talking simultaneously, a loud, violent pulsing in her head caused Hermione to cringe. With a groan, she pressed her thumbs into her temples, trying to ease a terrible headache. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't even ready to face them, even less so to talk to them. She felt that her head was about to burst. "Enough!" she shouted.

Both wizards halted their movements and fell quiet instantly. Letting her eyes slide over their crestfallen faces, Hermione sighed wearily. Then, she turned to Lucius. "Why are you here, Lucius? In my letter, I specifically requested to give me time and space to think."

Lifting her pale face to him, she continued, "You lied to me, Lucius, manipulated me, and used me in your elaborate game. You betrayed my confidence. I don't know how to trust you after this. I need time to sort this out, and you will need to wait until I do."

"Hermione," he said, with his arms already reaching for her, the blond wizard attempted to come closer. Sensing his intent, she raised her palm in a forbidding gesture and nailed him to the floor with her quiet order, "Lucius, no, don't come any closer."

Lucius visibly flinched. Hermione's biting words and tone denied any chance for argument, and he obeyed her command. She gave him a small, sad nod and moved to face Severus, who had been motionlessly and soundlessly watching her dialogue with Lucius. Gazing searchingly into his face, she walked to him and asked, "As for you Severus, I have a few questions. Is it true?

"Everything that Casimir told me. Is it true? Do you care about me?"

Severus, confronted with her straightforward question, managed only a curt nod. Not moving her eyes from him even for a second, Hermione continued, "Do you love me?"

Severus nodded again.

"No," snapped Hermione at him, her chest heaving. "Damn it! Can you say the bloody words, Severus? I want you to say it. I want to hear you saying it. Do you love me?"

"I believe so," rasped the wizard, obviously choking on the words.

From the room's far corner, Lucius echoed Severus' answers with a low growl. Unable to remain calm, the blond wizard began to pace the room's breadth, huffing and muttering something incoherent.

"Then why?" Hermione came even closer to Severus, minimizing the distance between them to mere inches. As the memories of his cruelty flowed through her mind, the anger filled our witch's heart, and she let her voice creep higher. "Why did you hurt me so? I don't understand you, Severus. Why did you push me into Lucius' arms?"

The wizard tilted his head to her, so they were face to face, and their noses were almost touching. He met her glare steadily and, carefully weighting each word, uttered, "I believe that I made a mistake, Hermione. It was an inexcusable lapse of judgement. I regret hurting you and I am profoundly sorry for the pain my actions had caused you. I," Severus paused and took a breath, "If you would allow me, I would like to try and fix my shortcomings. I would like to start over, Hermione. Would you let me?"

Silence cocooned the room again. Lucius' nervous pacing stopped, and two wizards focused their attention on the witch's face, waiting for her answer.

Hermione kept her gaze on Severus for a minute or so, trying to identify emotions that were brewing in her heart. Then, her eyes slowly moved over to Lucius, and for a moment, she watched him. Finally, stepping back from the wizards, she shook her head and whispered brokenly, "I do not know. I truly need more time. Please give me, let's say—a month." With these words, Hermione retreated to a living room window. There, standing with her back to the wizards and staring blankly into darkness behind the glass, she continued, "You two have wounded me greatly. I have nothing to say to you, except that I am extremely disappointed and hurt. In four weeks, I will decide if I want anything to do with either of you. As for now, I am truly tired. Please, leave."

Not inclined to move from her position by the window, Hermione heard Casimir's distressed gasp, which was followed by Severus' calm voice. "Very well, Hermione. If this is your wish, I will patiently await your decision. I hope to hear from you in four weeks."

No sound came from Lucius, and less than a minute later, two loud Apparition pops announced the wizards' departure.

In a futile attempt to lessen the pressure behind her eyes, Hermione closed her heavy eyelids and blindly sank into the armchair. There, she drew a heavy sigh and muttered to herself, "Here we go, all alone again."

"No!" a familiar baritone sounded from somewhere in the room.

Being startled for the second time during the night, Hermione cried out, "Lucius! Why are you still here? I thought you had left with Severus. You should leave."

In the next instant, Lucius was kneeling right next to her armchair and his arms were wound possessively around her legs. He locked his red-rimmed eyes on her. "No, I won't leave without you, witch. You are mine. You promised me. You have my ring on your finger. I am not waiting _a month_. I am taking you home _tonight_. I love you, Hermione. I cannot breathe without you. You are going with me, witch. I insist."

Hermione huffed in annoyance and tried to stand up, "Don't you dare to talk to me in this tone, Lucius. You lied to me. You betrayed me. You are in no position to make any demands."

Her attempt to free herself _only _caused Lucius to press harder and more tightly into her. Looking straight into her eyes and grazing his chin over her knees' sensitive skin, he muttered, "I did manipulate you, Hermione. I won't deny that. But only because I had desired you from the moment I had seen you at the ball. Yes, I had done everything in my power to have you, and I don't regret it. I would do it again on a whim. My only regret is that I hadn't told you the truth earlier."

At this point, Lucius' lips replaced his slightly stubbly chin as he covered her knees, legs and thighs with fluttering kisses. "Hermione, I love you," he hummed against her skin. "I want to marry you, to have you all for myself. All my knowledge and all my skills are at your service. I will assist you in any project or quest. Please, come with me, witch. I missed you terribly."

A hot and heavy wave of desire surged through her body with high voltage intensity that didn't allow Hermione to deny that she bloody missed him as well. However, our lioness wasn't willing to give up that easily. Thus, gathering all her strength, she began again, "Lucius, I have to think. As I told you before, I need more time, let go of me."

Lucius uttered a guttural groan and sprang up, forcing Hermione to stand up with him. "No, you don't. There is nothing to think about, Hermione. Your heart had already decided, and that is why my ring is still on your finger. You love me witch, just as I love you. Admit it." With this, his mouth covered hers in a passionate, demanding kiss.

Hermione's delicate fists furiously pounded into Lucius' chest for a full thirty seconds, my darlings, maybe thirty-five at the most. Eventually the thumping ceased, and after a soft, defeated moan, her greedy, little fingers found their way into his blond locks.

"That's my girl," murmured Lucius, his usual drawl already in place, as his mouth moved down Hermione's neck.

She tilted her head to the side, giving him a broader access to her overheated skin. "Never lie to me, Lucius. I won't tolerate it and won't forgive you again," she whispered.

"I know." Lucius leaned back and looking straight into her eyes spoke. "Truthfulness is not my strongest trait. I cannot change myself, Hermione."

"I am aware of that," she tried to interrupt.

"Shhh." Lucius pressed a finger to her lips. "Let me finish, my darling. As I was saying, I cannot change. However, I just might learn to control the urge. As long as my other desires are satisfied, of course," he added with a low, suggestive chuckle. "Speaking of which, may I finally take my witch home?" purred the wizard against her ear, already nibbling at it playfully as his nimble fingers found her soft flesh.

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Oh, how quickly her crafty blond snake came from utterly distressed back to his arrogant and smug self. Yet, he was right—she loved him. She felt so at home in his arms that there weren't any doubts left.

Lucius' whisper, "Hold onto me, my little Kneazle," was her only warning. Seconds later, she was laid carefully onto the silk covered bed. There, hovering above her and looking down into her face, the wizard suddenly became serious and spoke to her in an urgent voice choked by emotions. "I love you, Hermione Granger. I don't want to be without you. This bed, this Manor, this life is nothing more than a miserable, cold grave without you. Don't leave me, witch."

There, as Hermione laid in the Manor's bedchamber, watching Lucius' handsome face and listening to his declarations of love, she felt how happiness filled her from her toes up to every springy curl of her messy mane. Never would've she guessed that she would find love in this particular wizard's bed.

Oh well, my dear friends, as my grandfather used to say, you never know where you would find and where you would lose. And thus, our girl smiled at her fiancé, who was still muttering his concerns and revelations, grasped his face in her hot palms and said, "I am not going anywhere, Lucius. I have urges as well, you know. And besides, I love you."

"Minx." Lucius smirked, and with a sigh of relief, he kissed her.

Sure enough, the next moment, our lovers were forced to address those brutally compelling urges of theirs. Both of their thirsts proved to be unquenchable, and so for a long, long while they just kept going, right until they fell asleep from exhaustion.

**_To the Victor Belong the Spoils_**

_Four weeks later_

Severus was in the middle of the brewing process, when sad-eyed Casimir appeared in his laboratory with a quiet pop.

"Two letters comes for you, Master," sobbed the elf, biting his trembling bottom lip under his master's probing glare.

Severus, surprised by Casimir's emotional state, removed a cauldron from the heat in which simmered a potion, and took the letters from the elf's wrinkled fingers. With a muffled sob, the elf immediately disappeared from the lab. The Potions master shook his head at Casimir's antics and turned his attention to envelopes in his hand.

The first letter came from the Manor, and by the look of it, Severus could unmistakably guess its content. With the Wizarding world being as small as it was, he already knew about Hermione and Lucius' impending nuptials. And although our Potions master didn't expect to be invited, apparently he was. The wizard thoughtfully scanned the invitation's posh adornments and decided against opening it. He knew everything from the _Prophet. _He wasn't going to attend, so what was the point?

The second envelope surprised Severus—it came from Narcissa. The wizard arched his eyebrows, spelled the letter open and began to read.

_Severus, darling,_

_I hope this letter will find you in good health and, most importantly, mood._

_Everything is splendid on our side as well. As you know, Draco and Lucius had reconnected after Scorpius birth, and we see Lucius and Miss Granger here, in France, quite regularly now. Scorpius is growing to be a happy little boy with a strong and loving family around him. Frankly, it is enough for me to be thoroughly pleased with the turn our lives had taken._

_As usual, my dear, I have a favour to ask. I assume that you are already aware of the wedding ceremony that is planned in three months. Lucius had told me that you are invited. I would be delighted, Severus, if you would agree to escort me to the nuptials._

_Please, my dear friend, think about it._

_I would love you to join us for tea today, Severus. Serving usually starts around 5 o'clock._

_We would need to discuss details, in case you would agree to accompany me._

_Looking forward to see you,_

_Truly yours,_

_Narcissa._

The scent of vanilla and white musk filled our Potions master's nostrils. Severus inhaled deeply and walked to the lab's wooden bench. Sitting down, he reread the letter again. Then, he glanced at the clock—it was half past three. He still had about an hour.

Forty minutes later, the potion was finished and corked. In another twenty minutes, freshly shaved and clothed in meticulously pressed and buttoned black robes, Severus stood in front of the fireplace. Narcissa's phrase, which she told him a month ago, came to his mind. _There is nothing wrong in seeking a little bit of happiness, _she said to him then. The wizard chuckled "_indeed", _and with a precise movement of his long fingers, fixed his white shirt's collar. In the next instant, with a dramatic billow of black, he disappeared in the Floo.

As green flames swallowed the Potions master, a small shadow appeared from nowhere and walked to the desk where Severus left Narcissa's letter.

"Missus Narcissa," muttered Casimir dreamily, after he read the fragrant parchment. "Hmm," he creaked, and a mischievous smile suddenly lit up his face.

**_Fin_**_._


End file.
